
CHARLES •H'HIBLER 









Class H Z.5, 

Book J1 

Copyright If 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 






DOWN IN 

ARKANSAS 

-v* 


BY ,/ 

CHARLES H. HIBLER 


THE 

SLbbey Press 

PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 

iGmiiimt NEW YORK JHotttrriu 

' 




ThF lTbrary OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Cowes Rercived 

AUG, 13 igo?' 

CoPVPiGHT ENTBv 

t tw^i. . I ST— (flov 

CLASS C^VXr Mo. 

3 °i i % b. 

COPY R 


Copyright, 1902 
by 
The 

Bbbeg ipresa 


DEDICATION 


To Maud, to Edward, and to Mimi. 


Were truth not stranger than fiction, 
Fancy less wonderful than fact, 

All tales were exaggeration — 
History, even, far less exact. 


I 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


Chapter Page 

I. Introducing the Strangers 7 

II. Encamped in the Forest 17 

III. En Route to the Caddo 28 

IY. The Cabin Dweller 38 

Y. The Cynic’s Origin of Law 46 

YI. Captured by Moonshiners 57 

VII. Incarcerated in a Mammoth Cave 64 

VIII. A Strange Visitation 74 

IX. A Rehearing of Our Case 86 

X. A Moonshiner’s Curse 100 

XI. A Sheet of Pink Paper 106 

XII. A Brawl in the Passage 115 

XIII. Escape from the Cave 130 

XIV. The Travelers enter a Village 141 

XV. Landlord Green 149 

XVI. Some New People 162 

XVII. Return to the Village 174 

XVIII. Breakfast with Mr. Robert 185 

XIX. The Present Inhabitants of the Region 194 

XX. A Southern Widow 202 

XXI. Unexpectedly Delayed 208 

XXII. Awaiting the Event 215 

XXIII. The Wedding 223 

XXIV. The Hill Billy Dance 233 

XXV. En Route to Hog Eye 241 

XXVI. A Surprise by the Wayside 251 

XXVII. Meeting the Detective 259 

XXVIII. On the Train 270 

XXIX. The Parting of the Ways 279 





















































4 


Down in Arkansas 


CHAPTER I 

INTRODUCING THE STRANGERS 
Lost in a Forest 

Subsequent to the construction of the north and 
south railroads, marked by vivacity of inception, and 
pushed to completion, as have been few eastern enter- 
prises, the hill section of western Arkansas has at- 
tracted many visitors, who come to buy cheap timber 
and mineral land and for other speculative purposes. 
Among these were a party of gentlemen, representative 
of culture, capital, and avoirdupois — an educated Bos- 
tonian, a cynical Philadelphia lawyer^ and an obese 
speculator from Kansas City. Widely separated geo- 
graphically, politically, and financially, differing, of 
course, educationally, they were the peers of the bravest 
and best, who have given luster to their respective re- 
nowned localities. 

We had taken passage at Kansas City on a south- 


7 


Down in Arkansas 

bound train, which, according to schedule time, was 
four hours late on an eight hours’ run. The obliging 
conductor said that he and his faithful crew had chased 
that four hours up and down the road for several days, 
but on account of the overcrowded condition of the 
tracks, “due to the volume of business,” they had made 
little headway. The facts were, however, that the road 
was new and under poor management, and instead of 
a “volume of business” there was only a page or para- 
graph, comparatively speaking. But the conductor 
was doing all he could toward aiding his employers to 
keep the machinery greased, and should not be too se- 
verely condemned for his enthusiasm. Owing to the 
chaotic condition existing, his statement seemed plausi- 
ble, and it greatly pleased the aristocratic Bostonian, 
who explained that a number of his eastern friends 
were stockholders in the new road, “which will,” he 
said, “be a revenue getter.” 

“And it is every inch a Kansas City enterprise,” 
boasted the plebeian speculator. 

“Built with Philadelphia capital,” the cynical law- 
yer declared. 

Each claimed credit for the road’s existence. It 
was pretty hard to tell, just then, who did own it, and 
it has been somewhat of a conundrum ever since. 

There was no one present to speak for the Dutch 
bond holders, though they had a sympathetic listener, 
whose abused mind wandered away to the foggy shores 
of Holland, and was lost in visions of bottles and bar- 
rels and bung-holes. 


Introducing the Strangers 

The conductor had moved on, and was engaged in 
examining “annuals’’ and collecting delinquent passes, 
placing them in a bag strapped about his waist, after 
the fashion of an old woman’s apron. This form was 
new to the patrician, and when told that the custom 
was necessary, “on account of the heavy travel over the 
road,” stocks suddenly went skyward. 

The “brakie” came in, seated himself by the side of 
the Bostonian, accepted a long cigar from the specu- 
lator, and after getting on one end of it, and lighting 
the other with one of the company’s eight-day matches, 
spoke authoritatively of the road and its business. It 
is to be regretted that he contradicted the conductor in 
several particulars, and when asked why the train was 
late, said confidentially, of course, that it was a “com- 
pany secret,” but “bein’ ermung equals,” he didn’t 
“mind rattlin’ off a little, since gentlemen don’t give 
things erway.” 

The speculator, appreciative of the compliment, 
gave the fellow another “Wheeling stogie,” which was 
thrust into the vacant corner of his mouth, then observ- 
ing his error, he removed it with an apology, and of- 
fered to share his reward with the aristocrat. A 
moment later, his brakieship settled down to business, 
and “let out of the bag” a felis domestica as big as a 
Belgian hare. 

“This train,” he confided, “is really yesterday’s 
train, and has bin losin’ right erlong so’s ter keep in 
touch with the traffic. Ye see, men, er long stretch of 
our road winds through Arkansaw, an’ the Hill Billies 


9 


Down in Arkansas 

down thar are sorter bellin’ times, and we run slow- 
like so’s to giv’ ’em time to ketch up and git ther busi- 
ness.” 

Stocks now tumbled a little. The engine shrieked 
a vernacular railroad idiom, and the confiding “brakie” 
hurried out, else there must have been a local “black 
Friday.” Calculated to cause sudden fluctuations in the 
price of stocks and bonds, these conflicting rumors are 
unfortunate, perhaps, since they lap the gentle blood 
of the lambs, who invest in this class of securities. 

Fools may criticise, but it takes brains to correct. 
Therefore, it behooves one to hesitate, even before 
suggesting that it might be well for employees of cor- 
porations, yet in a state of doubtful issue, to get more 
closely together respecting such matters, that unwar- 
ranted praise and the unfortunate statement of facts 
may not, at unseasonable times, cause expansion and 
contraction of values, a contingent liability by which 
even promoters and manipulators are depleted rather 
than profited. 

No one, perhaps, better understands than do I, the 
evil effect antagonistic reports may have on one’s boom 
projects. Personal experience with a benighted town 
site, surrounded by picturesque hills, and pre-eminent 
abandoned hope leads me to believe that animadversions 
born of greed and nurtured by envy may hinder the 
staunchest enterprise. Therefore, even a great rail- 
road, with one end backing up to an iceberg and the 
other exposed to malarial fever, with its middle threat- 
ened by floods and landslides, should be headed by 


io 


Introducing the Strangers 

intellectual efficiency, and if it be not so, its chief and 
leadsman should at least seek the pools of expediency, 
along the beaten by-paths of rugged experience and 
soak their embryonic, sephalic extremities in common 
horse sense — but why give advice? The really stupid 
heed it not, and the truly wise need it not. 

In due time, not railroad time, of course, we 
grounded at a booming new town in the heart of the 
timber belt, midway between the Arkansas and Red 
Rivers. 

It was early morning, and though dark and threat- 
ening, we procured a team of “likely” mules attached 
to a commodious vehicle, and started off on a tour of 
inspection — a speculative project, beset with difficulties 
puzzling as the mazes of fancy. 

At that time few sections of the United States were 
less known. Deer, turkey, quail, and the wild bee; 
wild boar, wild cats, and the ferocious black bear in 
considerable numbers still lived there, in an undisturbed 
state of nature. 

Stored away in the wagon with the provender and 
forage were an axe, a hatchet, tin plates, cups and 
spoons, knives and forks, and a demijohn, which the 
speculator said contained fresh butter-milk. 

We had gone only a few miles in a southeasterly 
direction, when, like primitive man, we found our- 
selves alone in the midst of the forest. 

Summer was over, and autumn’s chill frost 
Had stripped the meadow of fragrance and bloom; 

The leaves of the oak were faded and lost, 

All nature was shrouded in silence and gloom. 


ii 


Down in Arkansas 

Towering majestically above our adoring heads, 
the drowsy pine, clad in one never-changing green, 
wailed the low, sad song of the winds which, though 
it cheers not, enchants the soul. It was one of those 
dark, gray days, so common to the Ozarks during the 
autumn season, when distance may be easily misunder- 
stood and direction deceptive and incomprehensible to 
the stranger. Perplexity and morbid condition of 
temper were the tangible results of a long, solemn ride 
through the timber. When we raised our heads, it 
was to realize that we had left the dim road, or else it 
had given out all together. Bewildered among the 
hills, lost in the strange wild forest, surrounded by 
rugged, unknown mountains, entangled in deep, dark 
gulches, covered by towering pines and spreading oaks, 
with no genial sun, no pale moon, no glittering stars 
above our heads, and no friendly trail under our wheels, 
hope and despondency struggled for tenancy in our 
cerebral cells, as we wandered aimlessly over the ridges 
and across the hollows, little knowing whether we were 
going east, west, north, or south, up or down. Our 
affairs were still further complicated by heated debate 
over these difficult problems, developing political ani- 
mosities, and rendering a majority impossible in that 
discomforted crowd of two Republicans, one Democrat, 
and a Populist. The Democratic representative insisted 
on drawing the demijohn into the discussion, and de- 
sired all parties to drown their trouble on the spot with 
its raw contents. The Republican contingent held out 
for an equal division of the “spoils,” but maintained 


12 


Introducing the Strangers 

that expansion of abnormal appetite was premature, 
as no arrangement had been made for a base of sup- 
plies. The Populist brother tenaciously declared in 
favor of a “middle of the road policy” respecting the 
fusil beverage, but when convinced that he was hope- 
lessly in the minority, pooled issues with the Democrat 
and embraced the expansion idea with the zest of a 
man, who not only favored getting all he could hold, 
but holding all he could get as well. 

Now that the three parties had shared in the 
“emoluments,” according to the capacity of each, a 
truce was declared, and little difficulty experienced in 
reaching an agreement looking to our delivery from an 
enthralment so dark and foreboding. Three of the 
company favored returning to the station for a more 
discreet and competent guide, which base insinuation 
touched my self-esteem, since I had been solely selected 
for that function, though no protest was urged as it 
was improbable that they could return. So stony was 
the route, no tracks were left behind; so crooked the 
trail, that several times we seemed to meet ourselves 
on the return. 

“Something should be done,” said the lawyer with 
awful solemnity. “Something must be done,” the Bos- 
tonian earnestly replied. 

“Something will be done,” vowed the speculator, 
and reaching for the silent member of the party, the 
demijohn, then leaped from the vehicle. 

One of us now discovered axe nicks on the side of 
a large pine tree. Further on were others blazed in 


i3 


Down in Arkansas 

like manner, all indicating direction, though in what 
particular course, as to points of compass, none of us 
knew. 

At this moment something unique occurred; some- 
thing original and brilliant, and for a twofold purpose 
the principal facts are noted. Stretching his short, 
thick neck to its full length, our fat friend gave vent to 
a powerful crow in good imitation of a barn-yard 
cock. 

“Good,” cried all, enthusiastically. “Give it to him 
again,” exclaimed one, “that we may the more definitely 
locate a feathered friend.” 

“Oo-ah-oo-ah-oo-ah-oo-o !” shrieked our would-be 
deliverer, with a Brown Leghorn accent, refined and 
unmistakable. 

So natural was the imitation, resounding through 
the canons, that had there been a common “dunghill 
fowl” in close proximity, it certainly would have turned 
green with envy. But hush ! our companion had been 
answered. From over the intervening valley came 
tones so like those of him who started the inquiry that 
even the refined ear of the Bostonian failed to dis- 
tinguish the slightest variation of a single note. 
“Meager modification of voice,” said he, “which comes 
from practice.” “Wonderful !” we exclaimed with one 
voice, and then pushed on toward the mountain side, 
whence came the friendly greeting. Fortunately for 
our peace of mind, the thrice-hacked trees pointed in 
that direction and we were doubly sure of finding a 
habitation. We halted upon the mountain side from 


14 


Introducing the Strangers 

Ciich only a short half-hour before the encouraging 
notes of the boastful rooster had come. But alas ! no 
sign of a home was in sight, and no blatant bird athwart 
the thicket roamed. 

The good speculator was again besieged to try his 
skill, which he did with modified voice and begging 
tones, and failing to elicit a reply, the dear fellow was 
crestfallen. His voice died away in the fastness of the 
mountains, and we, with a limited supply of provisions, 
and a demijohn all but empty, were doomed to pass the 
night in the black wood among panthers and bears, 
wolves and wild cats. There was some hidden mystery 
here, and it was the best place for mystery or anything 
else to hide ever seen. All had heard the cock, there 
could be no doubt of it. All felt disappointment’s keen- 
est pangs, because our arrival failed to reveal the bird 
that had passed the compliments of the day with our 
gifted vocalist. What seemed more dreadful to con- 
template, and a realization of which then settled down 
on our drooping spirits like the fogs in the gulches, was 
the fact that we were alone in the hidden recesses of the 
“Fousche” mountains, wandering aimlessly, chasing 
a will-o-the-wisp. Trials of this kind would sober most 
men even if on intimate terms with a demijohn. Yet 
one of the party chuckled merrily. The reader will 
have guessed that that one was the Kansas City specu- 
lator. He had been lost before — at the Kaw’s mouth, 
during the boom in real estate. 

Now his mirthful mood seemed wholly perverse and 
inconsistent with our surroundings, and could be ac- 


i5 


Down in Arkansas 

counted for only on the theory of imbibition. He per- 
sisted in making himself generally ridiculous by quot- 
ing most inappropriate lines, invariably ending in 
comedy, regardless of their purport. “That doth invert 
the attest of eyes and ears, as if these organs had decep- 
tive functions, ah ! what fools we mortals be.” 

“Of course we are — you are,” admitted the lawyer, 
“though I have seen nothing to laugh at.” 

“Nor heard a humo: us thing either, other than our 
jolly friend here,” and the Bostonian slapped the specu- 
lator familiarly on the back. 

“Oh, yes ! ha, ha. Yes, you have, ha, ha, ha ! gentle- 
men, ha, ha ! the echo.” 

Now, for the first time, it dawned on all others of 
the company that we were victims of the mountain 
nymph, and the crowing cock on the lonely mountain 
side, after all, was only a phantom. 


CHAPTER II 


ENCAMPED IN THE FOREST 

A Midnight Storm 

Darkness gathered upon the wanderers with the 
suddenness of an eagle swooping upon its prey. If 
travel in these solitudes were difficult by day, it was im- 
possible by night ; therefore, a night’s encampment on 
the craggy bank of an unknown stream was a matter 
of necessity rather than choice. 

We had made a fire of fagots, dry logs and pine 
knots, which would keep blazing the whole night 
through ; the heat of the burning timbers would temper 
the mountain air and the flames of the rich resinous 
knots prevent the near approach of prowling beasts of 
prey. 

Our downy beds of ease, made of the fresh, green 
boughs of the pine, were spread before the roaring 
camp fire. The Bostonian, the lawyer, the speculator 
and the guide, stretched at full length upon it, and 
listened to the prophetic moaning of the restless wind, 
which swept by their wakeful ears and fanned the fire 
into lurid grandeur. 


Down in Arkansas 

All desired an interval of restful slumber, but mis- 
fortune, once on the human trail, like a bloodhound, 
rarely does business in a dilatory way ; and now as the 
clouds thickened over-head, the night promised to be a 
sable-hued twin sister of the preceding day, if not an 
obstreperous sister-in-law. 

The fire burned on; hungry wolves howled and 
barked, and the hollow wind moaned through the tree- 
tops; and some inquisitive stuttering owls made re- 
peated efforts to learn our identity through the medium 
of tolerably good English. 

“Hoo, hoo, hoo, ah oo?” they stammered, adopting 
the native style of direct inquiry and indistinct delivery. 
We, of course, did not reply; whereupon the brazen 
things scolded us unmercifully in a primitive language, 
which the speculator said was long since obsolete. 

“Ha, ha, haha, hoo, hoo, hoohoo, hoo-oo-ah-oo,” or 
words to that effect. 

But fatigue finally overpowered us, and supine on 
the ground in the enforced equality of distress, Culture, 
Capital, Avoirdupois and humble Guide, sentineled by 
the refractory mules, sank into sweet and invigorating 
sleep. Soon, however, strange noises environed our 
camp, and succeeding each other without order proved 
too harsh for sensitive nerves ; and half-awakened, I lay 
there listening long to a medley and a potpourri ; now 
sullen and rasping, now soft and musical. With a su- 
preme effort I raised up on my elbow and tried to local- 
ize the noises. The speculator, original even in sleep, 
snored in a high key, taking an odd form as to metre, 


18 


Encamped in the Forest 

and appeared to disregard entirely the rules of feet; the 
Bostonian kept muttering uneven sentences without a 
bond of connection ; and the lawyer, in dreams, seemed 
to chase phantom roosters down the mountain side. The 
plebeian mules munched their sweet baled hay, and 
then a savage gust of wind turned a sharp crag, and 
set the dry, loquacious leaves to prattling; the fire 
crackled, resembling the chuckle of a madman, and the 
gases, escaping from the protruding ends of the fagots, 
attuned spontaneous to a weird waltz. With half- 
opened eyes I peered into the great pile of embers and 
beheld fanciful figures, supernatural whimsical witches ; 
and a peddler with a pack on his back ; a cripple boy 
with a harmonica between his twitching lips ; a feeble 
old man with pick and shovel, and under his arm an 
infant’s coffin, from which glared the glassy eyes of a 
sweet- faced girl babe, followed by a frail old woman 
with an odd-fashioned shaker bonnet on her bowed 
head. Fancy told me these were the grandparents, 
brother and uncle of the weaning darling; and I won- 
dered if the mother, possibly a wayward mother, were 
alive, and if the father, probably a wayward father, were 
an outcast and a wanderer, and if their beautiful child, 
were born out of wedlock, spurious only before the law 
of man, and then — the grotesque figures poked about 
in the ashes as if seeking a burial place for the infant. 
I opened wide my rational eyes, and, lo ! they all filed 
into a grotto, and then over my vision the goddess of 
night spread her mantel, and my five senses went out 
like a candle. I was then what man will be when he 


19 


Down in Arkansas 

ceases to be an animal — I was dead — dead only to the 
world, though. Love like death has been said to level 
all rank, and it is no less true that other natural causes, 
on occasion, produce like results. Where misfortune 
spreads her powerful pinions, or where calmity clutches 
at the public larynx, venting the clamor for place, it 
will have been observed that the common sufferer 
readily adjusts himself to changed conditions and ac- 
cepts the axiom that all men are kin. Trials of this 
character have caused rivals to embrace ; clans to stack 
their arms, tribes to bury the tomahawk, races to put 
aside their animosity, and even a bond of friendship to 
intervene between domestic animals and fierce wild 
beasts. The tranquil scene before the camp fire, in some 
respects, resembled their peaceful example. By volun- 
tary suspension of exercise, the mules even had fallen 
asleep on their feet; and the travelers, now with an 
apathy of the mental organs, which would have a 
mummy look like a fresh corpse in comparison, did not 
so much as wander in dreams over deceptive trails. 

Scenes like this produce oscillations of fixed opin- 
ions and prejudices, and cause considerate man to 
look with charitable forgiveness on the occasional 
arrogance of both his stilted brother and his stupid 
friend, the mule. 

The fire had burned low, and a number of fam- 
ished wild beasts loitered about camp, with a view, no 
doubt, of filching our provisions first, and holding an 
inquest over our carotic bodies later; but the sudden 
and terrific roaring of the wind through the mysterious 


20 


Encamped in the Forest 

forest awakened us, whereupon they took to their 
heels. Startled, as if from some dreadful dream, we 
sat bolt upright, facing the darkened west, with eyes 
riveted on a somber cloud, moving like mad to wind- 
ward. Flashes of lightning leaped from place to place 
within heaven’s bounds, and resounding from the dis- 
tant hollow hills came the awful roar of the thunder. 
Spectral forms, like giant devils, rushing with malig- 
nant aspects for positions in mid-sky, bounded upon 
the moving cloud with drawn swords and by Satanic 
vengeance, repelling and repelled, engaged in opposi- 
tion’s fiercest combat. Heated by the duel, their frowns 
replete with scorning, their every muscle quivering, 
their every nerve twitching as from dreams of death 
and hell, their despotic eyes scintillating, their fiery 
breathing charging the air with sickening fumes of 
sulphur, and their clashing steel diffusing zigzag 
flames, illumined the fray, and the roar of the awful 
combat was the deafening thunder, heard in the echoes 
of the lonely mountains. 

That we were in the very path of a terrible storm, 
perhaps a death-dealing hurricane, seemed not at all 
improbable. Our faithful team continued to sound 
the alarm by braying piteously — braying as only can 
one of the ass kind when confronted with something 
too big to be kicked asunder. Ordinarily a donkey’s 
judgment is derided, and accepted, if at all, with ap- 
prehension and doubt. Now, however, there were too 
many evidences that his muleship understood the situa- 
tion quite as thoroughly as did his masters. 


21 


Down in Arkansas 

At this critical moment the Bostonian exchanged 
hurried glances of sympathy with the “nigh mule,” 
which shut its right eye with a significant snap, as 
closes the purse of the miser, and dropped its left ear, 
indicating that it both saw and heard all that trans- 
pired around the camp-fire. To meet the impending 
danger it was then, doubtlessly, arranging a program, 
brief outlines of which were affectionately whispered to 
its mate, the “off mule,” and, judging by its serious 
cast of countenance, the arrangement was that both 
should be off in short order ; at least, some mutual un- 
derstanding was reached, for each bowed its head as if 
in a low, dejected state, made signs with its long ears, 
hoisted its tail, and with concerted action backed 
toward a precipitous embankment. For the sake of 
convenience, they had been tied to the wheels of the 
vehicle in which were still stored our provisions and 
the delinquent demijohn. 

If all readable tales were exaggerations, I, who 
tell you these things, should hesitate to chronicle the 
scene that, as a play upon the stage, passed before our 
eyes before the camp fire. The aristocratic Yankee 
spurred recklessly to the rescue, seized the frightened 
beasts by their uplifted tails, and with the ease and 
grace of a muleteer, changed the course of the outfit 
just in time to prevent its disappearance over the crag, 
where it would have gone down into ten feet of clear 
water. During the while, the roaring, crashing 
sounds of the on-coming storm were heard in the dis- 
tance, and it seemed that we poor wanderers were 


22 


Encamped in the Forest 

irrevocably wrapped in misfortune’s countless folds. 
With a vast black cloud over head, untrodden earth 
under foot; and an unknown stream in front and the 
mountain behind us ; terror-stricken mules on one 
side of us, and a merciless tornado on the other, what 
could we, weak mortals, do? 

“Hem er houn’, an’ it’ll show fight,” says the native 
of the region. 

“Hem a coward, and he’ll display latent courage,” 
is an aphorism, I had never before seen verified. 

A violent blast of wind bore down upon us with 
deafening, confused sounds, and a strange new light 
glimmered through the foliage of the pine, revealing 
our friend’s frantic efforts to lead to refuge. If one 
could have reasoned at such a time, it must have seemed 
the very acme of absurdity to risk human bones to keep 
fifty dollars’ worth of donkey out of the river, only to 
see it blown away by the storm. Such was courage. 

At the first appearance of danger, the lawyer sat 
on the ground, wound his long, slim legs around a 
sapling, which he affectionately hugged to his manly 
bosom, while gazing, with a damaged expression of 
countenance after the Bostonian and mules — a sort of 
spiked team. Such was prudence. 

The speculator had deliberately turned face down 
and was punching a hole in the ground with his well- 
rounded abdomen, either hand clutching a friendly 
twig, as if in mortal terror of being borne away by the 
ruffian blast. Such was caution. 

I am only confessing on all others of the party. 
Such is also caution. 


23 


Down in Arkansas 


The pernicious tempest overturned our wagon and 
scattered the protective fire, being followed by verita- 
ble sheets of rain as thick as quilted coverlets, and with 
no fire, no light, alone in the forest, hungry, weary of 
body and mind, our courage went dashing over the 
rough cascades of despondency. 

Slowly feeling his way over the debris and dark- 
ness, the Bostonian returned to camp, a sadder and 
wetter man, and assured us that the mules and wagon 
had escaped with little damage, though the grub-box 
and forage were still missing. The rain abated, but 
dark clouds still hung over us, heavily charged with 
electricity. By the reoccurring glare of lightning 
some charred chunks were collected and arranged so 
as to protect a blaze beneath them. 

“Strike a light,” was suggested, revealing the fact 
that only one dry match was to be had. The supreme 
moment had come. Each member of the party in- 
sisted upon striking the lone match, which was natural, 
since man is an animal, who, notwithstanding his 
familiarity with his own stupidity, would rather risk 
himself in a doubtful undertaking, and fail, than trust 
another’s sagacity and win. One reason for this is 
that he is an adept at forgiving his own blunders, but 
finds it difficult to compliment others’ successes. 

The matter was left to a vote, as all such matters 
were, disclosing other and more selfish human traits. 
During the canvass, there had been four strong candi- 
dates ; each had enthusiastically supported himself. 
The first ballot showed four popular favorites, each 


24 


Encamped in the Forest 

voting for himself. The lawyer then put it in this 
form: “All who favor Billy (that was I), say “I.” 
“I,” said I, entering the contest with the same es- 
teemed following that each of the others had. “All 
who prefer Fatty, say I.” The speculator said “I,” 
with a tone of voice indicating confidence in his con- 
stituency. “All who favor Boston say I.” The aris- 
tocrat feebly pronounced the pronoun which egotist 
and authors use so often. And then the chairman 
asked all that preferred himself to say I. And the 
chairman said “I,” followed by a motion to adjourn 
sine die. This was a particular matter; failure meant 
darkness, and dampness for the balance of the night 
and discomfort for the remainder of our journey. And 
yet, all were clamorous to accept the responsibility. 

“Leave it to the demijohn,” suggested the Demo- 
crat. 

“Never; you Democrats always resort to the demi- 
john when squeezed.” 

“I had rather refer the matter to the mules,” said 
a Republican. 

“Off color, my friend. You may use the darkey 
in politics, but you can’t use the donkey in this con- 
test,” was the reply. The upshot of the whole affair 
resulted in an agreement to draw straws, prepared in 
darkness by the Populist, who, in keeping with his pre- 
cepts, rang in an extravagant, double-headed, long 
straw, with which he won the coveted honor, in the 
wilds of Arkansaw. From an inside pocket he took 
a copy of “Harvey on Finance,” extracted a few dry 


25 


Down in Arkansas 

leaves, placed them carefully under the chunks, struck 
the match in his shaggy locks, the dryest spot about 
the camp, and applied the tiny blue blaze to the “in- 
vincible arguments,” which, being highly inflammable, 
burned like seasoned jute. Slowly were the priceless 
leaves fed to the eager flame, as if to pile all on at one 
time, were wanton waste of a good thing. The en- 
thusiast began at the back of the book, consumed its 
precious pages leaf by leaf, till all were gone save the 
very first paragraph. Over this he stooped reverently 
and proceeded to read aloud; the mules made a few 
remarks in italics ; an owl close by encored, either one 
or the other, and a wolf farther away whined piteously 
over the interruption, or mayhap, over the great crime 
of ’73. In this way sufficient heat had been generated 
to fire the rain-soaked logs, and soon again they blazed 
to the tree tops. The effect of the cheerful light on 
our spirits, until now unlike the icicle hung with the 
heavy end down, was quite as perceptible as was the 
heat on our saturated clothing, and the change so sud- 
den that it was like being transported from a damp 
basement to a tropical dormer window,. or from cathe- 
dral gloom to ball-room splendor, and our joy was 
now as unbounded as the ambient clouds, which still 
emitted a shower of rain, though it was no match for 
our great fire. 

Fortunately, as we afterwards learned, we had only 
been in the “suburbs” of the tempest that covered a 
large area and did considerable damage, and while 
we had experienced all the terrors of expectancy, we 
had escaped its disastrous consequences, 

26 


Encamped in the Forest 

Without knowing it, we had encamped near the 
railroad track, some miles south of the starting point, 
and in close proximity to a bridge spanning the un- 
known river. While enjoying the fire, a low, heavy 
sound was heard in the distance, and being bewildered 
we believed another storm was approaching. To our 
great relief, it proved to be a long train of box cars, 
heavily loaded with lumber and “hoboes.” 

The rumbling wheels of commerce strangely con- 
trasted with the hooting owl and howling wolves. Our 
nerves had been pitched to a degree of abject fear, and 
now that we realized that all danger was past, each 
eyed the other as if half-regretful that something more 
serious had not occurred. The speculator turned over 
and gave vent to an outburst of laughter that must 
have made the implacable wild beasts seek quarters 
more remote. 


27 


CHAPTER III 


EN ROUTE TO THE CADDO 

The Hill Billy 

The bright, glad morning came at last, and for the 
first time since we landed in Arkansas, the luminous 
sun was on dress-parade, scattering the diaphanous 
mists. Our admiration for the courageous Bostonian, 
who had saved the team and wagon by reckless daring, 
was, something large in respect to spacial quantity, and 
lengthened in duration. 

The startling events of our first day and night in 
the State had drawn us more closely together. Al- 
ready our bond of friendship, strong as the hoops 
binding a vat of immature moonshine liquor, united us 
as so many human staves. The Bostonian no longer 
seemed the cold aristocrat ; the learned lawyer was 
less cynical and sarcastic, and the wily speculator a 
veritable prince of good fellows. So intimate had we 
become, that formality was abandoned as wholly in- 
convenient and unnecessary ; suited to streets and 
alleys, blocks and squares, perhaps, but out of 
place in the hills in the timber. Even the humble 


23 


En Route to the Caddo 

guide had been taken into fellowship without reserve, 
without question. “ Judge,” “Professor,” and even 
that of “Colonel,” so much used and misapplied 
throughout the generous South, were ignominiously 
abandoned. “The Bean Eater” we called “Boss,” an 
abbreviation of Boston, of course. The attorney was 
“Philip,” soon degenerating into “Phil.” The spec- 
ulator was “Spec,” and the guide, a naturalized Ar- 
kansan, answered every day in the week except Sun- 
day to the plain name of “Bill;” on Sunday and at 
picnics, it was affectionately pronounced “Billy.” We 
were now on a common level in the matter of familiar- 
ized cognomens, and on a down-grade as to propriety. 
It does most men good once in a while to get out where 
they can throw off conventionality and become trifling. 
The city gentlemen were remarkably apt. Although 
marked by indulgent conceits on the one hand, and 
submissive deference on the other, our stational differ- 
ences were largely those of fancy. True, a capitalist 
is a persoh who has something, a speculator one who 
wants something, and a hill-dweller in these respects, 
unlike either, “has nothin’, wants nothin’, and don’t 
give a darn, no how.” 

Breakfast had been announced and was served in 
common, a miniature “Community of Interests,” in 
which the hearty speculator wanted the largest interest. 
Formerly, we had taken our meals separately ; the cap- 
italists formed a dining party to themselves ; the spec- 
ulator noisily ate alone, and his Billyship clustered 
affectionately around the feed-trough with the mules. 


29 


Down in Arkansas 

Such had been the practice, but by no dictation or 
previous understanding, and the natural selection 
theory may have been quietly at work among the trav- 
elers, anterior to the leveling process, as among all 
mankind. 

Our bill of fare consisted of white bread, roasted 
potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, thin slices of savory 
broiled bacon, and steaming black coffee. Not such 
a meal as one would relish at city hotels, assuredly, 
though it is doubtful if either of my companions 
would have so much enjoyed even a more sumptuous 
bill of fare on that particular morning, at an hostelry 
in his own city. 

To effect the traveler’s interest and pleasure, while 
yet the meal was being prepared and consumed, the 
subjoined statement and explanation respecting that 
unique, eccentric class of people, locally known as the 
“Hill Billy” was made, as by one friend to another. 

Some of us see fellow-beings superior to ourselves, 
which is sad ; all of us see those inferior to ourselves, 
which is sadder still ; but to “see ourselves as others 
see us,” though wholesome, is saddest of all. Owing 
to the wild and difficult nature of the section and the 
strange exclusiveness of these people, little was known 
of either prior to the coming of the railroads. It was 
a region sparsely inhabited, and the “Hill Dwellers,” 
as the aggregate body is termed, lived in secluded 
neighborhoods, far removed from each other. 

But the advent of these north and south lines 
wrought radical changes through the semi-mountain- 


30 


En Route to the Caddo 

ous quarter, and not alone in the primitive mannerisms 
of a remote, innocent class, but the country itself is 
being revolutionized. Where was a straggling village 
is now a young city ; where were diminutive patches 
of cleared land are now open fields; where were dim 
and lonely trails are now public highways ; and where 
was inertia is now life and bustle. 

Though as yet unheralded, the Hill Billy has a 
traditional history, reaching into the dim and distant 
past. It is hard to be entertaining and not be a liar, 
but easy to be a liar; therefore, many stories of his 
eccentricities are told by those who would be amusing 
rather than truthful. One of these generously at- 
tempts to prove that the Hill Billy, notwithstanding 
his opposition to innovations, is making progress. It 
is claimed that a few years ago, the stalwart youth of 
this wild region, rode long distances to mill on horse- 
back, that they placed their grain in one end of 
a sack, and to balance it behind their saddles, a rock 
of equal weight in the other. To relieve their jaded 
horses while on these tiresome journeys, they humanely 
shifted the load to their own broad shoulders, while 
yet astride the animal. Latterly, according to the al- 
leged humorist, these hardy sons go forth on a frosty 
morning or at dewy eve, and instead of the stone as of 
yore, balance their “grinding” with a jug of “white 
mule,” the local name for corn whisky. 

This story, hoary with age, is oft related by the 
fun-maker as undeniable evidence of the progress these 
people have made. Thus it would seem the rankest 


3i 


Down in Arkansas 

folly, for the prejudiced stranger to claim .this a land 
without advancement. 

I doubt there was ever a foundation for applying 
the extravagant fabrication to the Hill Billy, since his 
Hillship rarely fails to know his own best interests. 

The Hill Billy is a character in many respects un- 
like any other on the globe, and to do him justice 
would require the facile pen of a Dickens. 

When first I visited the hill country, a number of 
years ago, it seemed the wildest, strangest, and dullest 
neck of woods in the wide world. The native had 
not yet been disturbed in his ancient, solitary reign. 
When and from where these strange people came has 
never been learned ; it is safe to say, however, that the 
coming of their ancestors is an event so long past that 
none of this time know aught of their common origin, 
if indeed, it be allowable to presume they had such a 
beginning. 

By the rules of similitude, the Hill Billy is an in- 
tricate and interesting study, and in typifying him, one 
may form many judgments. Among his inherent 
qualities are integrity and prodigality, and in the 
matter of contentment and enjoyment, he is a step 
higher on the ladder of man’s worthy, but visionary 
ambition, than any being of his color on the face of 
Mother Earth. As to influx of thought, he is a sort 
of reservoir of limitations, and like the Indian as to 
vocabulary, is the epitome of brevity. 

In his “Ruins,” Volney attempts to supplant the 
accepted idea of the origin of man by saying he found 


32 


En Route to the Caddo 

himself naked and alone in the midst of a forest, and 
by a powerful passion, or words to that effect, was 
drawn to his kind and perpetuated his race. So then, 
it may have been with the Hill Billy, and notwithstand- 
ing the lapse of ages, he still clings tenaciously to the 
timber, and has never lagged in the matter of pro- 
creation. At his old stand in the hills, in the jungles, 
among the rock-ribbed ridges of Arkansaw, he keeps 
faith with his originally conceived conceit of multiply- 
ing and replenishing the backwoods district, and is a 
success without an equal, without a peer. Born with 
an iron constitution, his by-laws improve as he grows 
old, and as a rule, retains his powers till blown away 
by the ruthless winds of time. 

Occasionally the Gentile mates with the Jew; the 
Saxon with the Indian ; the Latin with the Mongolian ; 
the Caucasian with the African even, and so on, 
through all the races of the earth. But the Hill Billy, 
ever true to his principle of exclusiveness, never looks 
beyond his own beloved hills for his bride. As a re- 
sult, the species has remained pure and undefiled. 

The early settler usually located in a fertile valley 
or at the mouth of a hollow where it sloped down to a 
stream, and when the time came for his son to wed 
and found a home, they moved no farther away than 
onto vacant hillsides adjoining the “home place.” Now 
the grandsons, imitating their fathers, have gone still 
farther up the hollow, on other vacant lands, and in 
this way neighborhoods have been slowly founded; 
communities where all are of one blood. 


33 


Down in Arkansas 

In some instances where families have proved 
more prolific than is the rule, numbers have increased 
until the whole length of the long, sloping hollow has 
been settled by the offshoots of a single parental stem, 
and of sheer necessity, its younger members have been 
pushed over the intervening ridge in the home-building 
process, where the “Bear family,” mixing and min- 
gling with the “Beaver” in the marriage relation pro- 
duce a specimen of relationship so blended as to be 
typical of the general Hill Billy — a cross that is all 
but crabbed. 

I have visited homes back on the sides of lonely 
mountains, where in a log cabin of two rooms, doting 
parents reared as many as fifteen children, and the 
stranger could as easily distinguish a flock of young 
geese, one from the other, by their countenances, as he 
could the juvenile members of these hill families. In 
youth their lineaments are almost identical ; in old age 
they wrinkle the same, and as a rule, become gray late 
in life, if at all — everywhere a dearth of differen- 
tiation. 

Men high in affairs and possessed of an abundance 
of this world’s riches, have expressed feelings of sym- 
pathy for the lowly, who dwell in the hills ; but know- 
ing the lives of these humble people, I hesitate not to 
sav that if possession and not pursuit of happiness be 
the true aim of our lives, such expressions are poorly 
aimed, since the dweller in the cabin, secluded and 
secure, is far happier than he who resides in a man- 
sion, mid trials and turmoil, worry, and strife. Yea, 


34 


En Route to the Caddo 

the rich pity the poor, and the poor envy the rich, when 
in many instances, the rich might more appropriately 
envy the poor, and the poor pity the rich. 

On the one hand we have greed as a menace to 
human happiness ; on the other, envy as a contributor 
to human woe; and between the two, we have a little 
hell on earth, and a bigger one in prospect for the 
hereafter. Envy and greed, then, we may well believe, 
are twin jailers of human happiness, stalking about 
with Satanic smiles, and doing malicious missionary 
work for the devil. 

Truly this is a land where no man is rich, yet in 
an humble way all seem to live well. With equal truth 
it may be said that the average Hill Billy is not only 
independently poor, but is proud, even boastful of his 
lack of material riches. “One cannot thrive on wood 
and water ; pure air and scenery, though abundant and 
free, exhilarating and enchanting,” says the stranger, 
but the hill dwellers philosophically say that no man 
can live without these precious gifts of nature. There- 
fore, though his fare be frugal, his home humble and 
his life quiet, he is contented with his environment, 
happy in his seclusion. 

During the interval of narration, the speculator 
consumed his own and a share or two of the narrator’s 
interests in that “Community of Interests’ ” interests, 
and now insisted on taking up the difficult problem of 
currying and harnessing the team. 

There were four raw hands at the business and 
two raw mules, and if the ratio were out of propor- 


35 


Down in Arkansas 

tion, it was because of too much mule. The one that 
inaugurated the stampede during the storm gave us 
a mendacious look, becoming only to a donkey, turned 
its head to one side and dropping its ears, now laid 
aside all pretension to contempt-breeding familiarity. 
The Bostonian seemed grieved over its ingratitude. 
Owing to inexperience, we made grievous mistakes in 
unharnessing, which had to be corrected. The hames 
were unbuckled at the top instead of the bottom of the 
collars ; the lines were rolled up rope-fashion and tied 
to the breeching ; the bridles left on the animals’ heads, 
and the tugs unfastened from the hames, were hang- 
ing to the single tree, all at variance with custom and 
convenience. If the donkey is as easily amused as it 
is angered, the ridiculous plight of the harness must 
have tickled these two immensely. 

The wreck of errors having been overhauled, a 
couple of able-bodied men proceeded with the curry- 
ing experiment in obedience to promises rashly made 
the owner of the rig on leaving his stables. We 
tackled the creature lengthwise, beginning at the 
stupid end and carefully working our way to the 
“business end.” A mule will be good a whole year 
in order to kick one’s liver out in the twinkling of an 
eye — a means by which it expresses contempt. Every- 
thing moved smoothly enough until “Boss” came to 
the left hind-foot of the right-hand mule, believed to 
be a model of docility. Naturally gentle himself, the 
Yankee was arguing that a mule’s disposition de- 
pended “altogether on how you handled him,” when 

36 


En Route to the Caddo 

with a sudden and mysterious movement, a pair of 
iron-clad heels rent the air, and the curry-comb, broken 
ribbed and toothless, landed thirty steps away among 
the bushes. “Phil,” who stood far enough in the rear 
to avoid the stroke, though directly in the path of the 
flying curry-comb, which lifted his hat, bowed pro- 
foundly in recognition of the donkey’s good aim, say- 
ing, “That’s what makes me hate a mule.” 

This wanton display of deviltry ended our efforts 
in the way of cleaning the beasts, and will explain to 
the liveryman our excuse for a missing curry-comb 
and a broken promise, given in good faith. 

We bade adieu to “Camp Curry,” and once more 
pulled for the Caddo. 


3 7 


CHAPTER IV 


THE CABIN DWELLER 

Mistaken for Revenue Officers 

“Hello, the house! hello, the house! hello, the 
house!” fairly shrieked our strong-lunged companion, 
the Kansas City speculator. 

Again and again had he given utterance to his im- 
passioned impatience, when a deep and awful voice 
from within the cabin demanded to know what was 
wanted. A moment later the ill-proportioned figure 
of a man, whose head was covered with long black 
hair, and whose microscopic eyes seemed to blaze, 
bobbed up out of the cabin's dwarfed chimney. 

Keen as had been our disappointment, because of 
the unknown proprietor's supposed absence, it was 
then evident all regretted that he did not withdraw 
from contemplation of present objects. However, 
there stood the cabin dweller, a full-fledged wonder, 
grim and threatening, with a trusty double-barreled 
shotgun in his big rusty hands; a large man, nearly 
seven feet tall, thin of girth, though broad-shouldered 
and powerful. 


38 


The Cabin Dweller 

Some little time before reaching the rude habita- 
tion, the speculator had been entertaining us with a 
sad tale of the sea, and all engrossed we had driven far 
into the forest. He had made five round trips over 
the briny deep, always leaving his home town on a 
Friday, the 13th of the month. For the very good 
reason that his rhetorical rendition took our minds 
from the more important matter of direction, all were 
sorry that he had made more than four and a half. 
Not in the whole of that distance traversed, since leav- 
ing the Ouachita Valley, had a single abode loomed 
high on the hills, in the timber. It was perfectly clear 
that such wilful carelessness would make more diffi- 
cult our intended passage through an excited quarter, 
where the sleuths of the law were then contending 
with modern Jacobins. Even on a clear day — and, for- 
tunately, such was this particular afternoon — a stranger 
could scarcely follow the deceptive trails here, where 
all ridges look alike. However, I would recommend 
that the “tenderfoot” contemplating a journey through 
these obscure wilds, provide himself with a loud- 
tongued stock bell or a fog whistle so he may be found 
when lost. If “tender” all the way up to the crown 
of his head, as was true of our party, he should bring 
a hobble and a lariat also, and then not neglect to tie 
himself up at night. Otherwise his deliverance may 
be uncertain. 

Anxiously had we searched for the axe blazes, 
marking the roads in the timber, but even these sig- 
nificant signs could not be found, and the untrodden 


39 


Down in Arkansas 

pine needles completely covered our trail. It was 
evident, however, that we were descending the ridge 
and nearing a lonesome-looking cove, a retired nook, 
where supposedly was a settlement; toward this we 
hurried with little idea of the reception named in the 
preceding paragraph. A cleared spot was entered 
and a pathway appeared leading off at right angles. 
Looking sharply in that direction, up a long sloping 
hollow, we saw an old-fashioned worm fence. Further 
back stood the log cabin equidistant between precip- 
itous hills, lifting their timbered tops so high as to 
shut out the sun except between nine and three o’clock. 
The shanty stood with its entrance to the west hill, 
chimney to the path, and window, if there were one, 
on the north end, out of view. A coon skin, sun-dried 
and stretched on a kite-frame, flapped about in the 
breeze from the eaves, and some ’possum hides were 
tacked, flesh side out, on the outer walls. The chim- 
ney, warped as from spinal meningitis, was made of 
split sticks, cemented with rusty clay, and had sunk 
on its foundations some three feet, appearing little 
higher at the top than the clapboard door, which was 
tightly closed, no friendly latch-string hanging on the 
outside. 

A trio of fleshless and uncanny hounds, of a breed 
as distinct as that of their master, had announced our 
approach from afar by long-drawn and weird yelping, 
their dying tones resembling the gentle dove’s plain- 
tive cooing. Some chickens and a guinea hen, with 
harsher notes, had joined in the warning and splut- 
tered away. 


40 


The Cabin Dweller 

Having been uncertain as to our course, we halted 
at the nearest approach to the long-haired man's 
cabin, and the speculator, ever first in inquiry, filled 
his city lungs with pure mountain ozone and halloaed 
in “right good” backwoods style. His “hello, the 
house,” repeated several times, alarmed the hounds, 
and tucking their spotted tails inward, gave us an in- 
solent look, and then another salute, more drear than 
before, which translated into English, clearly meant 
“good-bye, strangers, good-bye,” for they scampered 
into the brush. The chickens doubtless mistook us for 
a band of Methodist circuit riders, and the guinea hen, 
when speeding up the canon, repeated incisive epithets, 
sounding like “put-luck, put-luck, put-luck.” 

“That’s Portugal, and means pot luck,” said the 
speculator, who spoke several languages, quite as im- 
perfectly. 

Since coming into the hills of Arkansas, we had 
met with much worse luck than that, and believed 
ourselves flattered by a reception that promised to be 
so mild. However, up to this time, no answer had 
come from within the cabin walls, and we were forced 
to believe that Miss Guinea Hen had repeated a foul 
falsehood for no other purpose than to entrap us. In 
just such a state of mind were we, when in answer to 
our companion’s call, the big backwoodsman demanded 
to know what was wanted. 

We had before seen pictures of the children’s little 
old, jolly, fat, patron saint, “up a flue,” but this colos- 
sus of the sylvan region looked little like a celebrity 


4i 


Down in Arkansas 

of any sort, unless, perhaps, Old Nick, whom we did 
not know personally. It must be admitted, neverthe- 
less, that he did look like a man that knew himself 
intimately, and while we thought he ought to be 
ashamed of the acquaintance, he appeared to have the 
utmost confidence in himself, and very little in us. 
Standing face to face, demanding to know what was 
wanted, he presented a bold front, and we, strangers 
in a strange, wild region, recognized our imperfections, 
strangers also, and though constantly associated with 
them, they had never before seemed so numerous and 
healthy. Yes, we were stricken with an alarming case 
of nostalgia. “What we wanted” just then was a 
chance, we had an excuse, to go to our distant homes, 
the more distant the better; only it would have been 
humiliating to “ ’fess up,” and to falsify in the presence 
of threatened extermination, required “nerve.” Re- 
solved to die in our pride, we hesitated, took long 
breaths, which didn’t taste quite natural, hesitated, 
and then hesitated again. There were four of us and 
two mules; one of him and a shotgun — and he had a 
working majority. We found ourselves by and bye, 
only it didn’t seem like us; and, too, we had learned 
something we didn’t want him to know; we were 
“skeered, and skeered bad.” Just to think what a 
combination confronted us, depravity and powder; a 
double-barreled shotgun, and a single-barreled resolu- 
tion. Transfixed and miserable, each hoping the other 
might frame an ulterior truth, that would bear shot- 
gun investigation, the minority stood gazing at the 


42 


The Cabin Dweller 

majority. Our conspicuous companion, the speculator, 
had been a little boisterous, admittedly, but when 
“called,” that is on seeing the other fellow’s “full 
hand,” meekly “laid down.” It was then that the 
cabin dweller emphasized his impatience by bringing 
his gun, locally known as “old Betsy,” to bear on our 
unoffending mules. We pitied the poor beasts, 
Never before was a donkey’s presence so appreciated. 
The big fellow seemed resolved on shooting some- 
thing, and only for the mules might have leveled on 
other and more timid members of the minority. And, 

if that great gun had exploded- Well, it didn’t, but 

the proprietor of that shack did, and he demanded, 
this time with meaning invectives, to know “what in 
the blank we wanted?” Another mood possessed the 
minority “instanter.” Then, each for himself, and at 
the same time, endeavored to explain the circumstances 
that brought us to his door, resulting in a jumbled 
mass of corroborative testimony, to the effect that we 
were looking at the country with a view to buying 
cheap timber land, closing with a statement that we 
wished to be directed to the Caddo, and were a party 
of gentlemen. 

“Ye hain’t acted like hit,” he growled. However, 
the simple truth seemed to allay his suspicion; “old 
Betsy” came down to his side, and along with it his 
prodigious form disappeared down the chimney. Soon 
the cabin door creaked open and our sullen interrogator 
came forth. 

“Whar you from?” he inquired, in subdued 
though by no means pleasant tones. 

43 


Down in Arkansas 

“Benton County, Arkansas,” faltered the specu- 
lator, who advanced to meet the giant, and they 
clasped hands. One of them was eighty inches tall, 
the other about that many inches around the girth, 
their joint weight six hundred and fifty pounds. These 
extremes eyed each other like game cocks on meeting 
for the first time. Then after an embarrassing silence, 
the long fellow, in dialect common to the region, said : 
“Now, men, if yer what yer seeming and not what 
your fine toggery 'pears, I am willing to help you all 
er can, but mind me now, if yer what I 'spected, yer 
in er trap and we'll make durn short work of you, be- 
fore yer leave this neck o' woods." All was then 
perfectly clear; we were suspected of being detectives 
or revenue officers in quest of illicit stills. 

Many of these people, suspicious by nature, look 
upon strangers, especially those who come among them 
wearing “store clothes," “a biled shirt" and standing 
collar, as a menace to their “liberties." Every move 
such a person may make from arrival to departure will 
be watched by men fearless and determined. It is due 
them to say, nevertheless, that disaster does not over- 
take the innocent and well disposed, but woe unto all 
who come to search for their moonshine stills, even 
though they be clothed with the authority of the law. 
The tiger in its flight, the lion in its jungle, are neither 
more swift nor deadly than is the mountain moon- 
shiner when aroused. 

At first, the brawny cabin dweller believed us con- 
nected with a band of hated revenue officers, whom, 


44 


The Cabin Dweller 

he explained, were then in that section, and only a 
few days before had made a raid some miles south, re- 
sulting in several deaths; notable among these was a 
young woman, the wife of a prominent and highly es- 
teemed moonshiner. 

After obtaining such information as would enable 
us to reach the Caddo, we thanked our newly made ac- 
quaintance in a manner profuse and reassuring, then 
drove on along a byway, which only for the blazed 
trees, we could not have followed a hundred yards 
distant in the timber. 

Notwithstanding the big fellow’s apparent belief 
in the account we had given, it was manifest that he 
trusted us not, and was that moment trailing behind, 
shadowing us from the bushes ; therefore our conduct 
was pacific, our speech guarded and politic. 

Had we been of the despised class, our identity 
once discovered, it is certain I would not now be tell- 
ing this tale of the hills, nor would my esteemed com- 
panions, the two eastern capitalists and the speculator, 
be living to bear me witness. 


45 


CHAPTER V 


THE CYNIC'S ORIGIN OF LAW 

The Moonshiner's Defense 

Our late encounter with the contumacious sinner 
of the cabin had produced a degree of gloominess to 
which the very surroundings contributed, obscuring 
hope and rendering anticipation doubly oppressive. 
Lofty wooded hills shut out the sinking sun's cheerful 
rays, and strange wild animals shrieked unconscious 
irony in our affrighted ears. How delightful to have 
met there in the trail a familiar domestic beast, a 
friendly dog of former acquaintance; a “brindle cow 
with crumpled horn," or even an omniverous sow with 
her brood of young ! 

Our capitalistic friends grew less communicative, 
the speculator less buoyant, and doubtless all were less 
disposed to invest their money and spend their time in 
a community where organized bands of moonshiners 
carry on their nefarious traffic, openly and boldly de- 
fying the law. 

I know no argument justifying the illicit practice 
of the moonshiner. It is a crime for which no valid 


46 


The Cynic’s Origin of Law 

excuse exists, yet it may be said in extenuation of his 
offense, that it is neither so wicked in conception nor 
debasing in practice, as are the countless violations of 
both divine and human laws daily encountered by the 
metropolitan police. 

That this old world is still the abiding place of the 
evil disposed and the home of manifold crimes is 
-recognized by the law-maker, though as yet, he has not 
availed himself of the best means at hand of reducing 
criminal numbers and the consequent spread of crime. 
When he will do so is a matter of conjecture ; but until 
he does, the human family will make no great strides, 
and jails and almshouses must continue to multiply. 

“If it be true,” remarked the Bostonian, “that 
crime is most frequent and the criminal more depraved 
in our large cities, where jails are more numerous and 
where law is rigorously enforced, it is an imperative 
duty that the legislator shall evolve some more effi- 
cient means of prevention than has been his prohibitory 
enactments.” 

“Aye, the Christ was behooved to suffer. Why 
should not man for man’s sake make sacrifices of 
pleasure to interest?” pleaded the lawyer. Having 
power to feel keenly what others express, and to speak 
readily what he himself feels, the cynic thus com- 
mented on the origin of law: “Away back yonder, 
where hangs the black mask of remotion, before man 
had learned to adorn himself in clothing or push back 
the hair of his head from his optics, before he had 
acquired the art of government, when enormous in 


47 


Down in Arkansas 

his swaggering gait, depending on his agility of limb 
as a means of escaping the ravenous beasts snarling 
and snapping about him; at a time when, shrouded 
in his limits, the universal law of self-preservation 
bade him make his abode in caves and on the cliff; 
yea, in the early morning of his being, when his mind 
was yet sluggish and his habits slothful, it is only 
reasonable to conclude that his laws were few and 
their enforcement a matter of indifference. But there 
came a day when this hairy creature, while creeping 
among the crags, climbed high on the precipice, so 
high that his benighted vision wandered over the black 
forest to the sunlit plain beyond. 

“With a soul full of amazement, he came down from 
his niche in the cloud-swept wall, crawled forth from 
his subterranean wallow, and stood erect with a club 
in his hand, resolved in purpose, the proud first keeper 
of the forest and the merciless master of the jungle. 
Seized with longing for adventure and a desire for 
conquest, his wants multiplied and his daring in- 
creased. Then it was he fastened the spear-head upon 
his murderous staff and shuffling hence, armed with an 
implement of enforcement, fearing none, and pitiless, 
set about forming a code of club-laws for the govern- 
ment of those whom he fancied knew less about be- 
having than did he himself, and thus the fellows of 
his own guilt condemned. This rude, first implement 
of force, still used in our cities, is no longer recogniz- 
able in the deadly rifle and destructive Gatling gun. 
Needless to say, legislation has kept pace with man’s 
48 


The Cynic’s Origin of Law 

other inventive genius, and as fast as he has developed 
weapons of carnage, has spread upon his statute 
books all manner of impotent laws, which in some 
Popocratic states, reached a plain of absurdity, as far 
beneath the horizon of common sense and justice, as 
are the whitish gleaming stars above us. Prior to his 
discovery of the club’s utility, his worst enemy was 
the prowling beast; subsequent thereto he has been 
his own bitterest foe, and it is presumed that law- 
making and law-breaking will continue along these 
ridiculous lines until intelligence, as applied to de- 
structive agencies, shall cause him to calmly reflect 
on the folly of force as a means of reform.” 

In front of us, and crossing the trail, flowed a 
small, clear brook, at which the mules stopped to 
drink. We climbed out of the vehicle, followed the 
rivulet to its source, and surprised our own throats 
with draughts of pure, sweet water. The generous 
speculator, who had a strong constitution, but a weak 
set of by-laws, discovered some bunches of aromatic 
mint, growing in the clefts of rocks around the spring, 
whereupon he forthwith possessed himself of the demi- 
john and made three mint juleps of Shetland pony di- 
mensions for his companions, and a regular Clydesdale 
for himself. Some one asked for a more satisfactory 
explanation of the cabin dweller’s strange conduct. 
Enlivened by the beverage, I entered into a high- 
wrought discussion of moonshiners, after the fashion 
of an “independent” candidate for office, endeavoring 
to curry favor with more than one political party at 
49 


Down in Arkansas 

the same time. It occurred to me that I had more of 
an audience than was in view, so I selected my words 
carefully, as if they had been pearls, and smiled or 
frowned to give them double meaning, as occasion 
seemed to justify. 

“These people,” said I, “are honest, true as steel 
to each other, and in their dealings among themselves 
or with strangers, for that matter, never lie, cheat, or 
take undue advantage.” This seemed all right as an 
“opener,” and was spoken in a loud voice, an improper 
way to begin an oration. I had expected applause on 
the part of the moonshiner, if he were really in evi- 
dence ; but there was none, and I took up the thread of 
my argument at both ends, interweaving a gauzy fabric 
of fancy, fact, and falsehood. “They believe,” I re- 
sumed, “that to make whisky from the product of 
the soil is an inherent right, as you gentlemen con- 
tend it is your prerogative to buy this pine land and 
manufacture lumber, shingles and lath.” Still no 
applause. Enthused with the subject, though aware 
I was practicing sham defense, I gradually grew 
louder, if not more eloquent. “Gentlemen,” now ad- 
dressing one wing of my audience with good-natured 
impudence, “generation after generation of this class 
has violated the revenue laws of our country.” This 
period was approached with lowered voice; according 
to rules of rhetoric, it should have been spoken in a 
higher key ; yet rules of rhetoric, like statute laws, can- 
not be made to apply to all people at all times. “Influ- 
enced by their surroundings, they really knew no better, 
50 


The Cynic’s Origin of Law 

and will likely never change these practices until their 
environment has first been altered.” My mind was 
wandering ; by some inadvertence, I had woven a 
“true-blue” thread into the very margin of a manu- 
factured article. Believing I had successfully 
straddled the issue and that neither millionaire nor 
moonshiner could take offence, I raised my voice and 
emphasized the following: “So long as our govern- 
ment may exact toll on the bi-products of the cereals, 
so long will the ingenuity of man, through secret arti- 
fices, seek to evade the tax.” It may have been an 
illusion, but it seemed like the rustle of dry leaves, 
reached me from the roadside, and I peeked into the 
young pines, just as a shadow, as of a man bodying 
forth, fell where the sunlight lay on the bushes, pass- 
ing in a second. Ah, maybe my didactic discourse 
was heard and appreciated in the “gallery” after all. 
The audience, at least that portion in the “parquet,” 
was in no mood to encourage the recital, and the 
effort was closed in these words: “And thus, my 
friends, we are shown that statute law may not be 
made operative, when in its moral conception it is 
bigger than those over whom administered. A road 
law covers a State, but does not make roads where their 
utility is not appreciated ; nor does the school law pro- 
mote where the benefits of education are not valued. 
Briefly, and to use a trite old saying, ‘-You may force 
a horse to the brook, but you can’t make it drink.’ ” 
This was followed by a ripple of applause on the part 
of the travelers. Whether because of appreciation, or 


5i 


Down in Arkansas 

to get rid of an unpleasant duty, I didn’t know, but 
that my effort was heard and approved by a just esti- 
mate, will be shown by subsequent developments. 

We left the spring and hurried down the rugged 
mountain, the country roundabout rapidly changing 
in appearance. 

At first we followed a trail along a beautiful 
stream, washing the foot of an inspiring mountain 
range, and crossing the open valley with serpentine 
curvatures, reflecting the sun’s oblique rays, like cor- 
uscated glass, seemed an endless chain of dazzling 
jewels. Here, at least were open fields, fences and 
other evidences of settlement. A mile or so further 
down the valley was a farmhouse with stone chim- 
neys, evergreens in front, and whitewashed out-build- 
ing in rear. We drove up and called, “Hello, the 
house !” A kindly old lady came to the door, to whom 
we doffed our hats, imitating the courteous Bostonian’s 
example, and I recalled the account of our first parents 
meeting in the garden. “Good-morning, madam,” to 
her, said we. “Howdy, strangers,” to us, said she. 
The Bostonian then interviewed the Good Eve, inter- 
rogated her, entertained her, detained her, and em- 
balmed her in bouquets of speech ; and then the first wo- 
man we had met in this veritable Eden drew us to her, 
as only innocent woman can by simplicity of manner 
and gentle replies. “For what man,” said the Bos- 
tonian in undertone, “would not bend an attentive ear 
to woman ? Be she old or be she young, she is some- 
body’s daughter, sister, wife or mother. O, woman 


52 


The Cynic’s Origin of Law 

of America, proud you should be ; mothers of the best 
race of men on earth to-day, and every son of thine a 
ruling sovereign; God bless the women, who have 
given birth to a race of men big enough to be fair.” 

When ready to drive on, he thanked her politely 
and offered a brief explanation and apology, thus : 
“We are strangers to your great country, madam; my 
name is John Brackett Somerset Spaulding, B.A., of 

Harvard, No. — ■ Street, Boston. Did you ever 

hear of Boston ?” 

The old lady replied in a meditative sort of a way : 
“Oh, yes, sah ; I know Tout Boston, whar they had a 
tea-party onct; but, let me see, ’pears like as I never 
heered o’ B. A. Harvard. Guess 1 never knowed ’im.” 
The dear old soul simply told the truth with no thought 
of being gay. 

Pages have been written to describe the verdancy 
of country folk who visit the cities on sight-seeing ex- 
cursions, yet it is doubtful if the greenest mountain 
boy would have been more ridiculous in the heart of 
New York than was this educated Yankee in the hills 
of Arkansas. Roads he called “streets,” farmhouses 
were “flats,” fields were “commons,” forests were 
“parks,” and even the donkeys that could lay claim 
to gentler blood, were only asses ; though so kindly dis- 
posed was he toward the beast herds, that were he 
writing this story, the faithful mules would stand a 
fair chance of being his principal characters and a 
jackass his hero. 

Again we moved southward; the lawyer turned 


53 


Down in Arkansas 

to his fellow capitalist and twitted him with : “Served 
you right; fault of the old lady’s memory, perhaps; 
strange she could not recall your very distinguished 
family name, ‘B. A. Harvard.’ Too bad!” But his 
trenchant irony only amused the Bostonian, who 
laughed immoderately, while the speculator looked 
happy as a fool. 

“Strange that men sometimes forget that the smoke 
of their chimneys rises not so high as the renown of 
their localities,” our fat friend remarked, and all joined 
in the hilarity that had been repressed out of respect 
to the innocent old mother. 

Soon we began crossing and recrossing the Ouach- 
ita River, at this point so bewilderingly crooked, it 
seemed to cross itself times without number. Our 
course then lay down stream and we appeared to be 
fording it lengthwise. Here, where dividing, the river 
rounding a small wooded island, was a diminutive 
rapids, and the murmuring waters whose god is the 
sun that lifts them from earth to heaven, fell softly on 
listening ears with a succession of regular intonations, 
separating time into rhythmic syllables; now with 
only a comma, again with a colon ; and then with a 
dash — left us thinking. 

What had appeared to be only a dell, spread out 
into an uneven bottom, thickly studded with oaks and 
elms, ash and hickory, and as with arms of triumph 
clings the lover, trailing vines with grasping tendrils 
clasped their trunks and o’erspread their branches. 

By a winding trail we reached the green upland and 


54 


The Cynic’s Origin of Law 

here again was pine timber stretching away to the 
Caddo. Pine hills, pine hollows, and pine ridges ; giant 
trees standing out to the horizon in every direction, 
forming an indescribable vista of green, blending with 
the blue of the sky. 

We drove along the dim trail, which finally faded 
altogether, leaving naught for our guidance, save axe 
blazes, but we had learned to interpret these with the 
accuracy of woodmen. 

The capitalists were' very favorably impressed with 
the virgin forests, frankly admitting that the facts re- 
specting the region had not been overdrawn. The 
coming of railroads made this land valuable and it was 
not unlikely that the strangers would invest large sums 
of money in developing the locality. And if so, our 
wanderings in the wilds of Arkansas, would, in due 
time, stimulate labor and convince the Hill Billy what 
signs avail. 

Since the time of which I write, wonderful changes 
have occurred for the betterment of the hill section. 
Mills of large capacity have gone into the great green 
forest, giving needed employment to hundreds of men, 
natives who formerly rarely saw a dollar and knew not 
the meaning of rewarding labor with cash. 

“Blessed is He who caused two blades of grass to 
grow where only one grew before,” applies with force 
to the promoters of these iron highways. Speaking 
comparatively, the truism as applied to this vast region 
poorly expresses the extent to which development has 
already attained. Instead of two blades, great bunches 


55 


Down in Arkansas 

of herbage now thrive where none grew before. As a 
result of the new order of things, whole meadows of 
husky calyx will be found to flourish in the former 
waste places of Western Arkansas on the mountain top 
and in the marsh. 

Continuing our rough journey down the mountain, 
we found that instead of the lofty pine was a variety 
of oak, some holly and cucumber bushes, and a liberal 
supply of stately beech timber, the first of the species 
we had seen in our travels. Later we examined several 
of the large trees and in the smooth bark were names of 
individuals, according to dates given, carved therein, as 
far back as 1818, and of course we failed to recognize 
the handwriting. 

An hour later, and as the sable, crimson-bordered 
curtain of night was fading to the westward, where 
the tall mountains lifted their awful forms, the valley to 
southward, already enveloped in obscurity, we dimly 
discerned a long stretch of level land lying before us, 
indicating that the low-lying bottoms of the Caddo 
were at hand. 


56 


CHAPTER VI, 


CAPTURED BY MOONSHINERS 

A High-Born Lady 

Moving cautiously along the north bank of the 
Caddo, just after nightfall, we were casting about for 
a lodging place. We found one. 

At the time, this section was quite thinly settled, the 
inhabitants living in settlements widely separated by 
long stretches of hills and forests, as yet unmarked by 
a friendly trail other than by thrice-hacked trees. 

In the preceding day’s travel we had encountered 
only two habitations. Our reception at the cabin had 
not been of a nature to impress us with bright visions 
of what might be our next experience in this line, how- 
ever in so far as the unusual circumstance presaged us 
for coming events, it was fortunate. 

“Halt thar,” commanded a gruff voice from the 
brush by the road-side. “Throw up yer hans and sur- 
render, fellers,” cried another. Unarmed and taken by 
surprise we readily obeyed the authoritative summons. 
Our team and wagon was quickly surrounded by a 
number of men whom we could but dimly see in the 


57 


Down in Arkansas 

darkness. By this time the first shock of the arrest 
passed off and we made bold to ask with what of- 
fense charged and to whom we had surrendered. 
In reply we were told that the arrest was “simply a 
matter of business,” “er duty,” and our captors were 
members of the “organization,” which suspected us of 
being “raiders.” 

“The same old charge we were confronted with 
back in the mountains,” said the lawyer with a hem and 
a haw, pronouncing mild rebuke on Arkansaw, “and 
we are not guilty as charged,” the Bostonian exclaimed. 

“It is to be hoped you are not, men,” whispered a 
sympathetic voice, issuing from a tall man who leaned 
over our vehicle. 

Then we were informed that if found guilty of 
being spies or in any way connected with the hated 
detectives, it would go hard with us, inasmuch as 
revenue officers had recently raided the locality, killing 
some of the natives and destroying a number of their 
stills. 

It was now thoroughly dark; a horn blast, with 
deep reverberating maledictions, rang out from our 
very presence. Away to the south and east rose 
muffled replies and on a mountain top well to west- 
ward, someone kept waving a firebrand. Soon again 
the horn in the hands of one of our captors gave out 
alternate clear and dull sounds, with hare-lipped in- 
distinctness, and seemed to say, “Come on; come on; 
come on!” and our constructive imaginations finished 
the sentences thus: “We’ve got ’em; we’ve got ’em; 

58 


Captured by Moonshiners 

we’ve got ’em!” To the northward, and a long way 
off, three* shots, as from giant firecrackers, succeeded 
each other with only a colon between them ; and when 
these reports had died away in the echoes only shape- 
less silence and motionless gloom remained. 

As a matter of fact, we had no fears of being con- 
victed of meddling with moonshiners’ affairs, if given 
an impartial hearing ; nor had they, so far as we knew, 
a scintilla of proof that would warrant our detention. 
But many just such atrocities are committed in the 
very name of law. And to be under indictment and 
arrest by a band of modern Jacobins, without warrant 
or excuse, to be tried perhaps before an excited mob of 
ignorant, vicious moonshiners, was certainly a prospect 
to fill the proudest heart with dread. 

Four men were placed in front of our team, four 
behind the vehicle, and two on either side of it, twelve 
in all and all heavily armed. The procession formed, 
word was given to march, and we turned up a narrow 
gulch, leading to the north from the road that we were 
following when arrested. The rattle of wheels over the 
stony ground rendered the muffled voices of the guards 
inaudible and enabled us to discuss our predicament. 

“A very strange procedure,” remarked the Bos- 
tonian. 

“An infernal outrage,” the irate lawyer replied. 

“Beats h — 1 a mile,” said the speculator, who was 
as cool as a cucumber. 

“I tell you, my friends,” the first rejoined, “we have 
got out of some perplexing scrapes down here, but this 


59 


Down in Arkansas 

strikes me as being far more serious than any or all of 
the others. My hope, however, rests on o*ur entire 
innocence.” 

“True, we are innocent in a specific sense, even 
simple and stupid in general, but how shall we estab- 
lish the former?” said the speculator. 

“Humph! How shall they prove us guilty? Did 
you think of that?” snapped the lawyer. 

“Hist,” said a companion. “These fellows must 
not hear.” 

I, who was presumed to answer definitely all mental 
speculations, interposed with : “Oh, easy enough. 
They will only require an accuser; someone of their 
number will make the complaint you may depend. 
And, as in days of witchcraft, an accusation is usually 
followed by conviction.” 

“And then what?” the speculator demanded, sav- 
agely. 

“Well, I have hope in another direction,” said I. 
“Do you remember the tall man who leaned over our 
vehicle and spoke in a low voice? Well, him.” 

Our conversation was summarily interrupted by the 
leader of the guards, who cried, “Halt !” 

We cast about for an explanation. The night was 
as dark as an evil thought and as quiet as a mean reso- 
lution. 

“I’ll bet er sack er oats Jane’s young un is dead,” 
vowed the leader. 

“If that’s hit, ther ole squar’d be harder than ever 
on ’em,” declared another of our guards. Doubtless 


60 


Captured bv Moonshiners 

he meant to say that our punishment before some bla- 
tant demagogue would be all the more sure and severe 
because of the death of Jane’s child ; but who was Jane, 
and what had we to do with her young un in any event ? 
Would they dare charge us with murder? We had 
killed nothing in the State other than time and owed 
no debt, not even one of gratitude. 

Sixty yards from the trail on the left we discerned 
a light, glimmering through the underbrush. On 
closer inspection, this proved to be burning timbers, 
piled up log-heap fashion, the glare of which, as we 
approached, revealed a small burial ground with here 
and there a slab of marble. 

“Three or four of you uns come erlong now and let’s 
help ther women,” commanded the leader, “and the 
balance stay and guard the strangers.” 

The Bostonian and I asked and received permission 
to go along with the volunteers, among whom was the 
tall man who had whispered over our wagon. 

Ten steps from the fire, clustering around a pile of 
fresh earth, were a half dozen or so of women, old 
and young ; a boy of eleven years of age, perhaps, and 
a couple of men, one old and feeble, the other a help- 
less hunchback. We approached them and some were 
singing placidly, accompanying the soft tones of a 
harmonica, which the lad was playing. Others were 
crying dejectedly, and one, a frail old lady, was praying 
fervently over a newly made open grave, beside which 
was an infant’s coffin. I stooped curiously over the wee 
casket and peered into the half-open eyes of a sweet- 


61 


Down in Arkansas 

faced girl babe. Strange memories flittered through 
my mind, I saw anew the great pile of dying embers, 
-he bed of gray ashes and a wild wide grotto, where the 
kobolds of the forest were filing in. 

When the singing had ceased, the hunchback, a Hill 
Billy preacher, came forward and with strong local 
coloring made a few remarks that the natives must have 
regarded as being essentially venerable. “Oh, God, 
when will cease these severities ? When will man learn 
that by forceful measures crime is increased and not 
suppressed; that criminals are being made and not 
diminished ; yea, that human souls are being lost and 
not saved. Yonder lies a noble mother and true wife, 
buried only yesterday. Here her infant daughter ; and 
the husband and father, a broken-hearted outcast and 
wanderer; and there a youth of tender years, the son 
and brother, who by the crimes committed in the very 
name of the law, the law that he should have learned to 
respect, must himself grow up to hate and in time to 
avenge the wrongs of his family, thus following in the 
footsteps of his fathers ; thus to become a renegade be- 
fore the law of man and a criminal before the judgment 
of Heaven. And thus from time to time, generation to 
generation, is wrongdoing perpetuated. Oh, God, for- 
give them their sins, for they know not what they do,” 
and he then closed with solemn prayer. 

The leader and three of our captors approached 
with bared heads, but with masks over their faces, and 
lowered the little coffin into its pit. While the grave 
was being filled up, the younger females assembled 


62 


Captured by Moonshiners 

around the fireplace, to which the Bostonian had re- 
treated, and from their heavy, dark eyelashes, cast 
timorous glances at him. Among the number was one, 
who, both by reason of contrast and conduct, attracted 
special attention. Standing at a respectful distance 
from the others, she had joined in the singing and her 
voice was soft and musical, denoting culture. And 
hers was a willowy form with perfection of movement, 
indicative of careful training. Because of a double 
veil over her face, we could not discern her expression, 
though she must have been beautiful. Retiring and 
modest, she stood apart from her companions, yet was 
markedly civil to them. Now, as before, she stood 
with her back to the fireplace, only farther away from 
it. A tall man, he who had whispered over our vehicle, 
came within close proximity to her, but neither ap- 
peared to be aware of the other’s presence. Halting 
at her side, fronting the fireplace, their right hands 
swung down quite unaffectedly. After an elapse of 
several minutes, he raised his eyes from the glowing 
embers, carefully surveying the bevy of mountain 
misses gathered round the log heap. And then, con- 
vinced that no one surmised his intentions, he stooped 
cautiously, and with his own clasped the bared white 
hand of the high-born lady, briefly, though gently, hers 
was withdrawn and in it was a scrap of white paper. 
In a moment he left her. 

She bade her friends good-by, bowed low to the 
strangers, and being helped to the saddle rode swiftly 
away on her black gelding. 


63 


CHAPTER VII 


INCARCERATED IN A MAMMOTH CAVE 

It seemed all of two miles from the Caddo bottoms 
to the little graveyard. After leaving the dreary place, 
we marched at least two miles further before a halt 
was called. We stopped at the head of the gulch, or 
as near thereto as encroaching limestone walls would 
admit a team. 

The strange spectacle of nocturnal inhumation had 
profoundly impressed travelers and guards alike; 
hardly a word had been spoken by either since leaving 
the burning log-heap. That the woman referred to by 
the minister was “Jane” seemed clear enough, though 
as to her untimely death, we could only surmise that 
she had been killed through some inadvertence by the 
officers when raiding the neighborhood. Frown as we 
may on violations of the revenue laws, we could -not 
but entertain feelings of sympathy for this stricken, 
pristine people, and were framing excuses for their agi- 
tation and revengeful mood when the leader disturbed 
our reveries. “Git out o’ thar, fellers, and foller me.” 

We got. Our discipline was marvelous, considering 
we had been in his service so brief a time. In obedience 


64 


Incarcerated in a Mammoth Cave 

to the elevating examples of our captors, we began the 
ascent of the steep hill, climbed by aid of twigs and 
bushes that grew along the narrow pathway leading to 
the summit. The effort caused the speculator, who 
was weak in some of his strong points, to blow like a 
wind-broken horse, amusing the moonshiners exceed- 
ingly. They were a thin-visaged, long-shanked, and 
cadaverous lot of Hill Billies, anyone of whom could 
have captured a premium for speed at a Missouri 
County Fair. His Heavies had lost his wind but not 
his head and nerve, which was vastly more important 
at this time. The Bostonian brought up his end of the 
procession in a creditable manner, as was expected of 
him. He even joined our captors in their half-smoth- 
ered exultation ; joked with them and laughed lustily 
when they made a crack at the good-natured speculator. 
Only for his tailor-made suit and English whiskers, the 
aristocratic Yankee might have been mistaken for their 
captain. The only really serious member of the com- 
pany was the attorney ; it may have been from habit ; 
lawyers have a way of looking dignified sometimes 
when entering a court-room. It is a manner they em- 
ploy to attract attention and get business. He had been 
in Court on many a pretext, but never before as a star 
attraction. The judge a stranger, and the jury — ye 
gods, think of the mob of “mossbacks” probably await- 
ing us — strangers, too, and “dimercrats,” every moth- 
er’s son of them, and the attorney’s only badge of honor 
a G. A.R. button, the alphabet for Generally All Repub- 
licans. Evidently our legal adviser understood the sit- 


65 


Down in Arkansas 

uation, but did not fancy his changed relation. Neither 
.did we greatly value his prospective influence with the 
Court. Influence and Ability are a strong legal firm, 
but when separated, neither are worth their hire. 

Of a sudden, a wild shriek or cry, not unlike that of 
a woman in distress, rose on the night from the opposite 
side of the mountain. All stopped and listened. The 
heart-rending appeal was borne down on us again 
like the wail of a lost soul, growing louder and louder, 
reverberating through the timbers. 

“A female, a female, for God’s sake, men, let us go 
to her relief,” ejaculated the merciful Bostonian. 

“Ho-ho-ho, er female panter,” was the derisive 
response of the Hill Billy chorus. 

“Impossible, absurd!” our agitated friend declared. 
The incident was explained by the guard, who scoffed 
at the city man’s honest earnestness. 

Nothing so humanlike ever startled mortal ears. 
Had we been free to go, we would have investigated, 
though later a lateral view of the occurrence demon- 
strated the folly of the enterprise. 

When the highest point of the great mound was 
reached, the tall man stepped to one side and as we 
filed past again whispered consolation into our ears. 
“All is well,” said he, but we did not feel that it was, 
though. encouraged by his attentions. 

Here we entered an opening in the ground, just as 
had the salamanders in my half trance before the camp- 
fire. The descent was no steeper than the exterior of 
the mountain. 


66 


Incarcerated in a Mammoth Cave 

By the glare of a torch light, ignited on entering 
the dark, narrow crevice, we saw the earth and rock 
gradually disappear above us and now fully realized 
that we were being forced into a moonshiner’s den of 
iniquity, possibly to our doom. Down, down, single file, 
an armed guard before and in rear and solid rock walls 
on either side. 

After much winding and no little climbing over 
fallen slabs of stone, we reached the base of the cavern 
and entered an enormous room, dimly lighted by blaz- 
ing pine knots. Old King Silence, harbinger of waste 
places, monarch of mystery and guardian of the future, 
sat solemnly on his secret throne with not a soul in 
sight. But far away rose the heavy tread of legionaries, 
entering by secret avenues ; and ponderous as the un- 
breathing walls, halting at the fire, contemplating this 
stony sepulcher, with gaze intent on the black outline, 
we calmly awaited our numerous hosts, but they came 
not ; even the triumphant tread was heard no more, and 
obscurely wrapped in blackest ether’s tenuous robes, 
the silent ruler reclaimed imperious dominion over the 
hollow earth. Resounding through these dark, empty 
halls and galleries, arches and domes, our own wearied 
footfalls on the resonant floor of the great cavern had 
pierced our own affrighted ears, multiplying tens into 
thousands. 

Soon we were surrounded by an unvaried, dull, 
dirty crowd of mountaineers, who came from side 
rooms, leading outward into several directions. These 
strange men stalked about, staring at us through their 

67 


Down in Arkansas 

masks, worn over their eyes and foreheads. And these 
were the Court and the executioners. In size and form 
they were much alike and we were unable at first to 
distinguish one from the other. A singular feature of 
the genuine Hill Billy is his lack of proportionate girth 
measure. A single intestine, without its natural con- 
volutions, seems to parallel his angular anatomy, and 
from his shrunken sides his hips protrude as a broom 
from its handle, enabling him to dispense with sus- 
penders. They presented a marked contrast to the 
speculator, whose circumference appeared to be greater 
than the orbicular body of the whole court. 

We were directed to occupy seats on boulders, scat- 
tered about after the disorder common throughout the 
West in halls of justice, or injustice, as is sometimes 
the case. That this was one of the latter there could 
be little doubt. 

No sooner had we seated ourselves than the gaunt 
bailiff, who looked like a new recruit from the back 
alleys of perdition, called our case in a way that demon- 
strated his self importance, and our castigation began. 
The judge or “master” of ceremonies differed from 
the attainted subordinates only in being their senior in 
years and in defect of moral purity, perhaps ; and his 
manner was that of a man who appreciates his eleva- 
tion to the bench, so that we were impressed with the 
idea that he was the whole thing: judge, jury *nd at- 
torney for the persecution. 

It seemed a pity that one of his pronounced ability 
as a jurist should waste his energies in a locality where 


68 


Incarcerated in a Mammoth Cave 

opportunities were unquestionably limited. Had he 
gone to Missouri, where “nerve” is appreciated and 
arrogance often rewarded, he might have been com- 
missioned Justice of the Peace with title of “Judge,” or 
road overseer, with “colonel” as a mark of distinction. 

The oath which the old rapscallion now recited with 
pompous vanity, belonged to no new code of laws, as 
we had hoped it might. It only required us to “tell the 
truth,' the whole truth and nothing but the truth,” 
which sounded like the Arkansas statutes, and we were 
sure that the old plagiarist required most too much of 
us on short acquaintance, since the lawyer and the spec- 
ulator had not made their living in that way, though 
they possessed virtues of great efficiency. 

The lawyer broke the silence by an unconditional 
“I will, your honor,” and the novitiates made profound 
acquiescent bows, resolved, as are most people, who 
take such an obligation, to skip something if it should 
be to their advantage. 

Like many another dignitary similarly situated, his 
honor, whose logic was of the anarchistic school, whose 
wit was exaggeration, and whose rhetoric was florid 
and spurious, rose and made a speech. Be it said, how- 
ever, his language was superior to many justices of 
the peace whom we had heard, and more free from 
profanity than some authors whom we had read. 

I expected a harangue in Hill Billy vernacular and 
was endeavoring to quiet my refractory nerves in order 
to note the moon-sifFs oration when he came down 
from the clouds and began an explanation of the causes 
leading up to our arrest. 


69 


Down in Arkansas 

“Men,” said he, “our peaceful community has been 
raided recently by revenue officers, whom our organ- 
ization refused longer to fee for their silence. You may 
or may not have heard of the circumstance ; you may or 
may not have been connected with the legally author- 
ized d — n scoundrels. You are here under the ban of 
suspicion; you will be given a fair trial, a just hearing, 
and if found innocent shall be treated like men. We 
have been outraged as a community ; our property de- 
stroyed and some of our friends ruthlessly killed, 
among them Jane Porter, wife of an esteemed citizen. 
We have sworn vengeance and at any sacrifice will pun- 
ish the despised, sneaking detectives. If you are of 
these (here he lowered his voice, his frame shaking 
with emotion), we shall see.” 

“That war a rattlin’ good speech,” remarked one of 
the Hill Billies, with livery-stable accent. 

Had we been spectators, we would have enjoyed 
it, but with no chance of appeal, no jury to buy, a Court 
that refused to give bribes, and might therefore decline 
to receive them, we were in no mood to applaud. 

“The accused will now be separated for examina- 
tion,” his honor directed. 

A cold sort of chill, from transient Terror’s icy 
strand, rushed in on our gray matter without knocking 
and congealed a lot of stupid excuses that we were 
framing for future reference. When these vain denials 
thawed out, they were too limp for use and it was ob- 
served that our experience with Jacobin justice left its 
baleful effect in other gray matter, sprinkled through 
our abundant curly locks. 


70 


Incarcerated in a Mammoth Cave 

The Philadelphian, now our attorney in fact, asked 
and received the Court’s permission to consult with his 
fellow-prisoners sotto voce. 

“Assuredly,” said the generous judge, with a mag- 
nanimity unusual in one of his exalted station. 

“Come aside,” said our lawyer and friend, and we 
retired and deliberated with him. 

Philadelphia lawyers are famous the world over for 
ability to grasp a situation quickly. I have known one 
of the distinguished class who could grab a railroad, 
or any other valuable thing, with equal facility and 
felicity. Our companion in misery was not the ex- 
ception that proved the rule, and now that we had a 
good sized, live situation in which he already owned a 
fourth interest, we wished him to grasp it immediately 
and at both ends, if that were practicable. 

Anxiety had already filed a mortgage in our fea- 
tures, and Delay threatened to wipe our good looks off 
of the records. But, come on wrinkles, come on gray 
hair, come on old age, what need one care? Since 
there is only one way to avoid these and that to die 
young. Many another man has aged himself in this 
vain world by thinking himself out of a hole, and alas, 
many another has thought himself into one, a hole in 
the ground, not so large as this one though every whit 
as attractive. 

Our intellectual attorney had had many cases in 
the courts, many criminal cases no doubt, yet this one 
with its vermillion lining was the first in which he had 
appeared as attorney for, and accomplice with, his 
clients. 


7 1 


Down in Arkansas 

There had been a time in the recent past when the 
Bostonian received our commendation and praise for 
valiant services, and now to the astute lawyer we 
turned for succor. We had received his wise counsel 
and would abide his advice, the gist of which was to 
tell a uniform story and stick to it. 

His arrogance, head of the Hill Billy tribunal, called 
three of his attendants, and requesting the lawyer to 
take the witness boulder, dispatched all others of the 
accused from his august presence. 

The Bostonian was assigned to the tender mercies 
of “Three Times Three,” the speculator to the watch- 
ful care of “Six Times Six,” and myself to “Four Times 
Fourteen,” as they were designated by the judge, who 
made the assignments and did pretty much everything 
else about that court. 

These mystic numbers were used throughout the 
trial in place of names. I had drawn a big number, 
comparatively, “FourTimes Fourteen” (56), and hoped 
I would be stripped first in case of excoriation by the 
“organization.” The Bean Eater and Avoirdupois dis- 
appeared into separate chambers, closely followed by 
vigilant guards, and I, deeply sympathizing with my- 
self, first, last and all the time, was alone with Four 
Times Fourteen, in a sepulchral apartment, which had 
neither lights nor upholstery. 

No sooner did we reach seclusion than the Mr. Hill 
Billy known to my esteemed self by his numerical 
multiplicity only came close and said in a whisoer: 
“You are a brave man.” 


72 


Incarcerated in a Mammoth Cave 

It was he who had leaned over our vehicle. It was 
the first time I was ever accused of anything so reckless 
and I hastened to put him right with, “Oh, no, you are 
mistaken, I thank you for the compliment, indeed I do, 
though I am nothing of the kind. But my companions 
are.” 

“You don’t understand, my brother,” he interposed, 
and then grasped my hand in fraternal clasp. 

“Oh, ah, I do now ; where do you belong?” said I. 

“And where do you belong?” he queried, with 
brotherly interest. 

Questions and answers of a fraternal nature were 
hurriedly exchanged and we knew, even there in the 
blackness of night, that we were brothers. 

“Be perfectly quiet here, Sir Knight, I go to take 
the testimony of your friend, the lawyer,” said he, then 
noiselessly glided from my dark chamber. 


73 


CHAPTER VIII 


A STRANGE VISITATION 

Trial by the Jacobins 

Alone in that deep, damp dungeon, with no living 
thing near save the vampire bats, I leaned heavily upon 
a humid staglagmite, clammy as the skin in death; my 
heart throbbing with secret dread, and my troubled 
brain, seeking a truce to restless thought, recalled 
scenes of other days, and visions of the long ago 
crowded thick and fast on my wakeful memory. Neigh- 
bors and acquaintances and friends whom I had loved 
or venerated, and who, going out of my life, left prints 
of their noble natures stamped on my emotional soul, 
all dead these many years, passed steadily by in one 
ever-changing procession. First came “the upper 
class,” straight-laced Pharisaic men and women, emi- 
nently respectable and technically honest, and they 
were returning from an invisible church with bundles 
of foreign mission tracts and showy, gilded Bibles in 
their gloved hands. At sight of me, they turned aside, 
as if I were a criminal or a beggar, and with prayer, the 
fine gentlemen aped sympathy which they did not feel, 


74 


A Strange Visitation 

and with embroidered lace handkerchiefs, the exquisite 
ladies affected to dry tears of pity that they could not 
shed. Others were young couples, attired as if for the 
May Day dance, and all blithesome and prankish ; these 
showered me with bouquets of wild flowers, and about 
my wrinkled brow wound gay garlands of roses. Some, 
mere children, on their way to school or at play by the 
wayside and at me they shouted joyously. Others, the 
rank and file, the busy middle class, and as if hurrying 
from shop or field, burdened with cares of their own, 
these gave me no more than hasty, compassionate 
glances. Some, aged couples, dressed in mourning, re- 
turning from the funeral service of a friend and 
patriarch, and they placed small coins before me, then 
departing sang a vesper hymn, soft and low, sweet and 
tender. Others, the poor generally, gathering round 
me, expressed that heart-felt sympathy born of suffer- 
ing and nurtured by love enduring. And, while won- 
dering if Jesus were still among them, sympathetic 
“Old Limpie,” the village pauper, whom I remembered 
so well, came forward and begged to take my place by 
the silent stone, and then, though I could not speak, I 
recalled most vividly a youthful playmate, and it was 
Old Limpie’s dog “Tige,” the best friend the old man 
ever had in the world. Deferentially bowing before me 
Old Limpie’s earnestness caused to well up and over- 
flow an intermittent fountain of grateful tears and to 
shield my emotion I turned my gaze down the old 
pasture road and there, nearing with the same half pace, 
closer, with the same wide-open jaws and lolling red 


75 


Down in Arkansas 

tongue ; yea, with the same kindly look in his big hazel 
eyes, was my boyhood friend, “Old Dog Tige.” And 
now at my side he looked up and smiled, just as he 
did long years ago, when he was a pup and I was a 
child, out on the street, out in the snow. Then, just 
as hope leaves the human heart, these dear ones stole 
away. Others, strong men, with regalia about their 
shoulders came near and whispered low and cautiously, 
“Oo-loo, oo-loo, oo-loo,” followed by sounds like team- 
ing the lid from a coffin, in letters indescribable, long 
drawn and sibulous. These good friends and true 
passed on by twos, with measured tread and slow, 
beckoning with gloved hands, as if expecting someone 
to follow. And when all had disappeared, a strange 
new light, pale as a moonbeam issued from a spheri- 
cal dome, festooned with pendant cones, and from be- 
neath a stalatitic column, rose sweet strains of music, 
soft as the murmur of running water. Then two fe- 
male forms, timorous and modest, attired in rich, flow- 
ing white robes, descended, light as the down of thistle, 
from the high, arched roof of the cavern, came close 
and laid their white hands on my drooping shoulders, 
stooped and kissed me, then embraced me; and in the 
face of the elder I beheld, wet with tears and wistful, 
eyes like my own in glance and color, and on the brow 
of the younger, compassionate and tender, were graven 
lines familiar, characteristic marks of her son and 
daughters, by God bestowed to bless us — a wife and a 
mother. Again was heard the soothing whisper as 
before, followed by the whizz or whir, and with wings 

76 


A Strange Visitation 

outspreading, hastening, sweet with odors, these super- 
natural, dissolving natures vanish oh so silently. 

Could it be, then, these/ strange, inarticulate sounds, 
blending with the low, soft murmuring, formed a com- 
plex, spiritual password, revealed by the angels to 
admit my soul to the sweet beyond? Could it be this 
dark subterranean place of confinement was a real 
tomb? And were the shadowy forms the freed souls 
of the dear departed? Had I ceased to live? When 
did I pass away, and how long would I be dead ? 

Had I slept, and did I dream, 

While fantasy in its flight 
Beguiled reason from my sight? 

Was not true what true did seem? 

Had I not with rational eye 
Seen, slow moving through the cave, 

Shadowy forms, as from the grave? 

Were it not true friends passing by? 

Extraordinary as had been these gleams of a remote 
world, they seemed little more wonderful, even when 
the test of returning reason was applied to them, than 
the surrounding facts, especially as related to my 
guard, a Knight of Pythias, and — God spare the mark ! 
— a moonshiner as well. Who was he? . Above all, 
how could he so far forget his obligations to one of the 
most solemn and sacred rituals administered to man? 
A K. P., and yet an associate of outlaws? Ah, but 
“truth is stranger than fiction,” fancy less wonderful 
than fact. 


77 


Down in Arkansas 

Now, however, reason began to ferment in the very 
vats of analysis, and some truths too palpable for denial 
were distilled. The tall man, whatever else he may 
have been, was kindly and sympathetic, and though 
outlawed, he was still true to his fraternal oath; and 
though false to moral obligations, he was still a brother 
and a friend. Over these perplexing questions I 
brooded with mingled feelings of regret and gladness, 
when the Mysterious Four Times Fourteen reentered' 
my cell and said hastily: “Your time has come; let us 
go.” I thought it had “come” some time before, and 
pinched myself to see if it were really “me,” that I 
esteemed as never before in my life. 

As we stumbled toward the court-room, feeling our 
way along the silent walls and over fallen slabs of 
stone, Four Times Fourteen recited verbatim the testi- 
mony of the attorney, who had told a straight story, 
respecting our devious travels, and though plied with 
irrelevant and impudent questions, he deviated not an 
iota. I took the stand, blanketed my brow with Flill 
Billy gloom, and put the lawyer’s concise statements 
into native narrative form, thus making evidence of 
testimony. 

During the while my late guard disappeared, but 
soon came in with the Bostonian, who got astride the 
boulder and somewhat humorously and ironically spoke 
of our wanderings in the Arkansas Wilds. Conclud- 
ing, he assured the court that our intentions had been 
wholly those relating to business and pleasure. So far 
as business was concerned, we had had it at every turn 

78 


A Strange Visitation 

of the road, and at one place in particular. In fact, 
there was no road to turn. Later we had been forced 
from the public highway with invincible shot-gun per- 
suasion; yet if this sort of thing were regarded in the 
line of “duty,” and more especially being a “matter of 
business,” we would not complain. However, with 
present rush of orders, we could not reasonably accept 
new business, but would endeavor to take care of such 
as had accumulated. The world was a school, and not 
a free school, either; business a battle, and not a hu- 
mane one at best. The successful were conceded to 
be great natural generals, who either made or took 
advantage of opportunities as they presented them- 
selves. Until now it had never occurred to him that 
brigandage on a large scale could be made remunera- 
tive. By forming a trust of allied interests and placing 
a few million shares of treasury stock on the markets 
with which to equip its agents, it would certainly be a 
successful enterprise, give employment to free-booters, 
and become a profitable investment for idle capital. 
As a scheme it was on par with numerous others orig- 
inated in the minds of so-called schemers. The meth- 
ods to be employed for raising revenue for its share- 
holders were quite as honorable as those many pro- 
moters employed. 

As yet we had had no “rake-off” on the compara- 
tive matter of pleasure, the secondary consideration of 
our journey, though it was “delightful to meet the 
hospitable strangers, especially the esteemed court,” 
whose rulings had been fair and dignified, and he hoped 


79 


Down in Arkansas 


the acquaintance thus strangely formed would “ripen 
into lasting friendship.” 

“A magnificent liar,” whispered the lawyer, lean- 
ing to the ear of his companion. 

“Ah, what a lawyer or speculator he might have 
been !” flitted through my mind, though I only smiled 
assent. 

Attended by Four Times Fourteen, our fat friend 
was approaching smiling blandly, as if he had gone 
into partnership with a pleasant secret. In a pains- 
taking way he reiterated much that had occurred an- 
terior to our arrest, dwelling at length on the incident 
at the cabin. The moonshiners turned their masked 
faces together, indicating that something startling was 
revealed. 

Our attorney arose, and addressing the judge with 
all the dignity and reverence which might have been 
employed had he been directing his remarks to Moses, 
the ancient law-giver, said: “The defense begs to rest 
its case” — and it was no expression of despondency. 

The room’s great silence was broken by “’is honor,” 
who explained that unexpected delay of a witness im- 
portant to the prosecution necessitated a recess. 

This was a most singular procedure; however, not 
exceptional in some of the courts of the land. A 
similar instance came under my own observation. A 
youth had pleaded “not guilty” to the charge of crim- 
inal assault on the person of a lad of his own years, and 
was corroborated by undisputed evidence; but the jus- 
tice said, though the plea of innocence should be sus- 


80 


A Strange Visitation 

tained, he believed a lesser offense had been committed 
and that the law compelled him to jail the offender. 
Thereupon a commitment was made out, the expense 
charged to his county, and the virtue of his act sub- 
mitted to his God. 

Respecting our case, the judge had not only re- 
versed all known rules of procedure, but had changed 
end for end the principle of law that man is innocent 
until adjudged guilty by his peers. Therefore, we 
were guilty until proved innocent, by the admissions of 
a delayed prosecuting witness — a veritable placing of 
the cart before the horse, a dray wagon in front of a 
broncho colt. 

“Could there be an equal to this ? Is there a place 
on the face of the earth where human liberties are less 
clearly defined ? Why, the very synonym of that 
blessed word liberty is polluted license to do as one 
pleases/’ moaned the Bostonian. 

“All the same,” said the speculator, “we are his’n 
and by the grace of destiny.” 

“Nonsense, man,” vowed the other ; “fate had noth- 
ing to do with this affair ; it is chance, happen so.” 

“Well, chance, fate, and redheadity are all con- 
genetic agencies; fate is the brother of the Destinies, 
and the others cousins at least.” 

“Pshaw, Spec! You reason as the colored man 
who said the sun was less important than the moon, 
because the latter shines at night, when we need a 
light.” 

“That’s all right, Boss, well put and all that, but 


81 


Down in Arkansas 


I’ll tell you fate is doing everything, even to paying 
the rents and collecting the coupons. Why, I know 
plenty of fellers who tried to make geniuses of them- 
selves and turned out mammoth failures. Others who 
tried to be mammoth failures and made great geniuses. 
Humph ! talk to me.” 

“Well, for the very life of me I cannot understand 
how you have made a living for your family.” 

“I’ll tell you how I did it, and if ever you are so 
lucky as to have a family, try it yourself. You see, 
when I laid the base of my business I had dyspepsia, 
and on days that my liver didn’t act I would look up 
investments. When feeling good I would make sales. 
More clearly, I was an optimist when selling, a pes- 
simist when purchasing; between the two I made my 
‘Jack.’ Good thing; don’t give it away.” 

Whether convinced of our inability to escape, or 
confident of our innocence, we could not determine. 
Nevertheless, we had been left in charge of a single 
guard while the Court and loungers repaired to an 
underground spring, where it was supposed they “wet 
their goosels,” either from the subterranean fountain 
or a jug of moonshine liquor. 

As all were out of hearing, we fell to discussing our 
chances of acquittal or escape. 

“What of our tall guard there, Four Times Four- 
teen? I wanted him on the jury until informed there 
would be none.” 

The only one of the travelers who had had no op- 
portunity of interrogating the masked figure was our 


82 


A Strange Visitation 

legal adviser, the speaker. His keen legal mind had 
not failed to read character, though under a mask. 
Such traits have made men eminent. 

“He is a K. P. ” said I. 

“The deuce you say! Why is he here with these 
scoundrels ?” 

“More than anyone can tell; more than he himself 
has made clear.” 

At that instant Four Times Fourteen came over and 
sat down nearer, with his back toward us. 

“Be careful, gentlemen; you are watched. Don’t 
look steadily toward me. Listen.” Turning half 
around, he resumed in a low mumbling voice: “The 
adjournment has a twofold purpose. First, it is their 
intention to fill up on corn whisky ; and second, to dis- 
cuss your detention. To a less prejudiced people your 
innocence would seem clearly established already; yet, 
knowing the feeling of your captors at this time, I 
doubt not your release depends on the testimony of 
your accuser, and I very much regret my inability to 
tell you who is to appear against you. On all roads 
leading into the quarter are sentinels, whose bounden 
duty it is to report to this headquarters the presence 
of strangers. Until now I supposed your accuser was 
in the cave. Should these fellows drink to excess, I 
shall be alarmed for your safety. However, if the 
worst comes, I will signal my men, now on the outside, 
and we will join you in giving battle, though it does 
not suit my plans to swoop down on these devils just 
yet. Be assured, nevertheless, if need be, every mother’s 
son. Good-by.” 


83 


Down in Arkansas 

The sudden break in conversational tones caused 
us to look around. He was on his feet, in the act of 
retreating. 

“To whom, kind sir, are we indebted for this revela- 
tion?” the speculator inquired, hoping to learn our 
guard’s identity. 

Without perceptible change of voice came the reply, 
“Four Times Fourteen”; and then for the first time 
in this greater chamber, now darkened, we heard pro- 
nounced that mysterious blended sound, which re- 
sembled “Oo-loo, siz-zan-ah.” The fire was rekindled 
and the room radiant with the crimson luster of blaz- 
ing pine knots. 

The retreating form of our benefactor had nimbly 
passed behind a giant pillar that supported the roof of 
the cave just in time to avoid detection by the moon- 
shiners, then returning from the spring. 

“ ‘Oo-loo, siz-k,’ — what was it he said ?” quoted 
the lawyer. 

“Who said ?” the speculator interrogated. 

“Why, that Mr. Four Times Fourteen, to be sure.” 

“Well, I am not so sure. That voice, with its 
frayed-out rump-rustle, seemed to emanate from the 
pillar, which must be hollow, a tomb,” and the specu- 
lator pointed at the mass of carbonate of lime. 

“Well, gentlemen,” the Bostonian interposed, “this 
dramatic representation is at variance with stage cus- 
tom, and becomes more complicated all the while; 
sounded like ‘oolikahuki.’ ” 

“Maybe it was Grover’s ward,” said the lawyer 
derisively. 


84 


A Strange Visitation 

“All are wrong,” said I. “The mysterious mingled 
expression is no more nor less than a friendly pass- 
word, intended to aid us in escaping from this prison.” 

“What is it, then ?” my companions demanded all at 
once. 

“As nearly as I can tell, it is ‘Oo-loo, siz-zan-ah.’ 
I took the matter up with some angels a while ago, in 
a dream or a vision had in yonder dark chamber.” And 
then I related my strange visitation. 

“Deuced strange,” said the Bostonian. 

“Devilish queer,” admitted the lawyer. 

“She-e-e-e-e-e ! Here comes the tag-rag court and 
executioners,” the speculator hissed. 


CHAPTER IX 


A REHEARING OF OUR CASE 

“Come inter ther court, men ; yer case ’s up er gin,” 
cried a half-articulate voice; and Balaam’s ass was 
never more proud of his syllables than was the bailiff, 
who, being a man of few words, either said something 
or took a chew of tobacco every time he opened his 
mouth. 

Still seated where Four Times Fourteen left us 
when he dodged behind the pillar, we arose and greeted 
the judge; but so engrossed or soaked was he, we had 
as well made obeisance to a salt mackerel. Court! 
bah! The very idea of this malicious organization 
pretending to regulate independent action. “ ‘ Come 
into court!' Was anything so nauseous ever wit- 
nessed ?” snarled the lawyer. 

“Indeed, nothing ; unless it be the vain pretension of 
that old jackanapes posing as a judge,” the Bostonian 
replied. 

Exasperated by the antics of judge and execution- 
ers, and encouraged by the colloquy of his friends, the 
speculator was bent on a scrap, and only for the war 
department — the ever-cool head of the Bostonian — 


66 


A Rehearing of Our Case 

would have transgressed the limits of soberness and 
besieged our foes. 

“Look at the beasts, would you? I gosh they are 
all drunk,” he hissed. 

Sure enough, they were fast becoming so, and we 
recalled Four Times Fourteen’s expressed fear, re- 
membering that he had said if it came to the worst 
we would give battle. Where was he at this moment ? 
What was he doing? 

“We may have these sots to fight yet,” coolly re- 
marked the Bostonian. 

“Yes,” said a companion, “the moonshine brand 
of whisky and Hill Billy brand of deviltry is a dan- 
gerous compound. We have much to fear, but ” 

“Hush !” the speculator lisped. “Footfalls in rear.” 
We looked round ; darkness obscured the pillar ; no one 
in sight. 

“Come inter court, I tell yer,” said Balaam’s ass’s 
rival. 

We started up. Just then a tall man stalked behind 
with the measured tread of a sentinel. 

“You are ordered before his honor; I command 
you to go,” this one said in a dictatorial voice. Then 
in reassuring undertone, “Brace of revolvers behind 
the pillar.” 

“Nothing save a free lunch could be so accept- 
able,” muttered the speculator, as we leisurely obeyed 
the command. 

The Bostonian, a natural leader of men, now 
frowning on jest, offered the following in monotone: 

87 


Down in Arkansas 

“If it comes to a fight, gentlemen, let Billy go for the 
guns, and we will engage the rascals around the fire.” 

“With stones, here in plenty.” It was Billy who 
said this. 

“That’s the igee ; I’ve got a pocketful of the deadly 
‘mausers,’ and consider I am loaded for the biggest 
bully in the bunch.” The reader knows who said that. 

We sat down near the gaping crowd, in plain view 
of the judge and everyone else, and continued our 
conversation ; for it was a long time before any busi- 
ness was transacted. The lawyer leaned to his com- 
panions and whispered: “If fight we must, let every 
man strike to kill.” A splendid resolution, unanimously 
adopted ; though the speaker looked as if he would 
prefer a moonlight excursion on the Caddo. 

The Bostonian advised prudence in all things ; said 
we should permit the court to proceed in its own way ; 
and if finally convicted, we would then agree on a plan 
of action. He had other reasons than fear of the out- 
come to be guarded in conduct. “There could be little 
doubt,” said he, “that Four Times Fourteen will be on 
the side of justice in case of conflict.” 

They were very many to one and well armed. We 
were to contend for liberty — the one great cause that 
has ever incited man to battle against odds; we were 
sober, they were drunk; we were men, they were 
wretches. “It has occurred to me,” he continued, 
“that under no circumstances should we become sepa- 
rated. If they prove too many for us, we will retreat 
to one of these dark back chambers and make a stand. 


A Rehearing of Our Case 

They can only follow with torches; which, with the 
guns, will give us a coign of vantage.” 

“I gosh, boss, I never thought of that. We can 
sure lick the whole caboodle, kill ’em fast as they 
come,” said the speculator, in tones too loud for con- 
versation. 

His “bad break” passed unnoticed by the moon- 
shiners, who, other than the court attendants, had 
squatted on the floor, forming a circle, and were mas- 
ticating “hillside navy,” spitting to the center with 
native precision. During the long-drawn-out interval, 
we cast about the room locating points of attack which 
should serve us in event of a pitched battle. “ Ts honor” 
also availed himself of the interim, filled his pipe with 
“long green terbacker,” and after repeated attempts 
and the destruction of many matches, succeeded in 
“firing up.” Puffing away in blissful silence, gradu- 
ally inclining forward like one thinking deeply, or 
who thought he was, his great legal head went peace- 
fully to roost on his ribs. Could we have seen his 
brow, doubtless we would have found it knit into four 
corners of abstruse philosophy. His “hickory shirt,” 
unfastened at the collar band, spread open, exposing 
a manly bosom set with bristles, denoting a patriarch 
full of years and indicating that he leaned to Populism, 
“which,” whispered the Bostonian, “is a visionary 
thesis, if not positively irrational. However, like the 
converts to other abstract doctrines, Populists may be 
of the highest type of men, and oft are found in the 
very front rank of modern thought — ‘mugwumps/ a 


89 


Down in Arkansas 


sort of hypothetical excrescence on the body politic, 
without whom and which little reformation or ad- 
vancement could be made in a political way,” was the 
cynic’s observation. 

“Now that we have discovered the Court’s political 
inclinations, why not use politics as a final argument 
to influence its decision?” suggested the speculator. 

“Such has been successfully practiced in other 
courts builded on the plan of this one, and deception 
seems excusable under the circumstances. Our iden- 
tity is wholly unknown; therefore, why not?” the 
lawyer observed. 

“Think you we can appeal to the judge’s party 
prejudices? Why not assume the respective names 
and mannerisms of certain distinguished Populist 
leaders, whom individually we are said to resemble?” 
said Spec banteringly. 

“A rational conception,” assented the lawyer; “as 
having been some hours without food, we collectively 
resemble the party.” 

“You transgress a rule of rhetoric, my friend,” 
said the Bostonian smiling. “Never compare a great 
object to a small one, no matter how striking the com- 
parison.” 

“That should not prevent one from telling the 
truth,” was the reply. 

“Doubtless we can pass unobserved, and ‘ ’is ’oner’ 
will hardly dare imperil national issues by keeping 
us long confined,” the speculator rejoined. 

With angels, pass words, and a supposed detective 


90 


A Rehearing of Our Case 

interested in our righteous cause, things did look 
brighter; and if by gulping down one or two planks 
of Folly’s platform, we could array Populist sympathy 
on eternal justice’s side, there would no longer be 
reason to dread the pooled issues of depravity and 
drink. Reasoning thus, we were quiet and hopeful. 
Events succeeding each other, as do the conclusions 
of induction, knocked our theories into a cocked hat 
big enough for the most prodigious egotist. 

The old codger was still cogitating — at least his 
head was still on the roost, and his pipe had gone out — 
certainly an undignified attitude for one of his judicial 
pretensions, though no one criticised it. To have done 
so would have been to draw out a fine for contempt 
of court. Contempt for the court was exactly what 
we had, and though dark complexioned and vigorous, 
it was tactful in temperament. 

One man only was now on his feet, and he a 
new arrival — that is to say, we had not before seen 
him in the cave. Stalking about with unconscionable 
stride, he appeared to be the progeny of fertilized 
giantry. Here at last was the sylvan demon come 
out of “Board Camp Hollow” perhaps, or from the 
head waters of “Wolfe Creek,” to testify against us 
for so much a word. Drunk as many of these wretches 
were becoming, they seemed like old and trusted 
friends compared to his newness and bigness. We 
wished that he would get drunk with the rest of the 
“Plill Billans”; but he did not — just stayed sober to 
prove the rule. At any rate he would be one of a 


9i 


Down in Arkansas 

drunken men’s audience — punishment enough to expi- 
ate the offense which we fancied he was about to 
commit. His face was covered with the regulation 
mask, long unkempt hair hung to his shoulders be- 
neath a broad-brimmed white hat, and he appeared 
to be nearly seven feet tall, small of girth, though 
broad-shouldered and powerful. Our long-delayed ac- 
cuser! And the thought that our release depended 
on the character of his testimony was harrowing. Ap- 
parently he could accuse a whole neighborhood and 
make it stick, per force of might and muscle. Not a 
word had passed his lips. An awfully depressing at- 
mosphere pervaded that boundless domain of silence. 
These were moments of unreasoning anxiety, which 
is stating the case mildly. Oh, if we only could ap- 
proach him with a bribe! We would buy him a still 
and put him i^ competition with the despised old judge. 
We would make him general manager of the Free- 
booters’ Cooperative Association. Yea, we would help 
to elect him a member of the Arkansas Legislature. 
However, no such familiarities were on the programme 
for that evening’s entertainment. He stood aloof from 
us, posing before the Court, an informer, a statue of 
statistics. Why did he not speak? Ah, maybe he was 
waiting for old High Balls to fill his pipe, which had 
been relighted by an attendant. 

At last the spell was broken. His honor came 
from his reverie, timidly as the tortoise from its shell, 
and in a maudlin voice addressed the prisoners thus : 
“ Men, you’ll pay attenshun to yo’r accus — hie — er, 


92 


A Rehearing of Our Case 

number Four Times Four — n-a-w — hie — I mean — 
hie ” 

“Yer mean Four-forty-four,” the bailiff explained. 

“Well, him,” the first faltered, pointing his long 
bony fingers at the big fellow with folded arms. 

The judge’s maudlin speech caused a ray of sun- 
shine to flit through our overwrought imaginations. 
Indeed, we had momentarily hoped the man before the 
bar was none other than the intrepid Four Times 
Fourteen in disguise; but this Four-forty- four was 
an unknown, discreet quantity, and the revelation of 
his numerical puissance, corresponding with his bulk 
and austerities, knocked all the poetry out of his forth- 
coming testimony, as far as we were concerned. 

“That’s the only sober man in the darned outfit,” 
whispered our obese companion, “and I’ll kill him 
first if war is declared.” 

“It rests with him to issue the proclamation,” was 
the attorney’s reply. 

The redoubtable Colossus of the pine woods came 
forth with long strides, and with each step bent for- 
ward in a noticeable springing manner. In deep and 
strangely earnest tones he addressed the Court : “Yer 
’oner, may it pies yer ears to hear what I have saw 
with my own sight. I war home yisterday, an’ hearin’ 
some feller call front o’ my cabin, I peered out and 
tol’m what’s wanted f An’ ’en I come out and talked 
with ’em fer er spell; an’ they said they war specter- 
lers lookin’ at ther country with er idee o’ buyin’ it 
cheap. An’ bein’ shore they war good fellers like, an’ 


93 


Down in Arkansas 

meant no harm ter nobody, an’ just er lookin’ roun’ fer 
fun, I let ’em go on down ther road ter the ol’ mint 
spring. Well, I sorter follered along in ther brush, an’ 
clum er big pine overlookin’ ther small timber an’ 
watched ’em make er mint .dram all round an’ drink it, 
an’ my mouth watered fer some of that red liquor o’ 
theirn ; but I dar’n’t say nothin’ no how. So I quit er 
hankerin’ and listened to ther talk; and one of them 
made er mighty peart speech, an’ told tothers to make 
whisky was an inhuman right, from the products of 
ther soil, same as they had a right of them to make 
plank and boards ou’n ther trees. An’ jes’ so long as 
ther govment takes toll on biled products — meanin’ 
white mule, er mountain dew — so long will Injuns an’ 
white man, through secret plannin’, pervade ther tax 
an nen 

Uproarious applause. 

The reader may smile over the odd expressions and 
bungling errors of Four-forty- four, who suddenly 
and unexpectedly evinced friendship for the prison- 
ers ; yet by no other form of speech could he have so 
certainly carried conviction to his hearers. It is con- 
ceded that the speaker who attempts the style of an- 
other, or who assumes to express his thoughts by any 
other vocabulary than his own, loses caste with his 
audience. But when the facts respecting this incident 
shall be known, it will seem that genius may attempt 
almost anything and succeed. 

In repeating almost verbatim our conversation, and 
my high-wrought speech at the spring, the unknown 


94 


A Rehearing of Our Case 

emphasized such parts as were calculated to favorably 
impress the Jacobin court in our favor. Unquestion- 
ably this was done designedly. The effect on the half- 
drunken mob of moonshiners was marvelous. Nothing 
had been said while en route to the Cado to preju- 
dice these people against us ; therefore we were greatly 
pleased that our talks were overheard and repeated by 
one apparently of their number. We had sown the 
seed of policy, and were now enjoying its luscious 
fruits. Our appreciation of Four-forty-four, even be 
he the Cabin Dweller himself, was excelled only by 
our undying love for Four Times Fourteen. 

Gradually the whole multiplication table was com- 
ing to the rescue, and we recalled our youthful en- 
deavors to master primary mathematics ; but never 
before had a knowledge of figures seemed more bene- 
ficial. Difficult as were these problems, we would 
figure ourselves out of the subterranean den without 
resort to subterfuge. 

Nor had we long to wait. The Hill Billies gathered 
around us and in drunken zeal all but took us tc 
their bosoms. That moment we were free men — at 
least in the eyes of the “public,” the latent force be- 
hind the bench. There was no longer apprehension of 
conflict, for there were no factions ; we were all moon- 
shiners — that is, from a Jacobin standpoint. The only 
thing we felt constrained to guard against was in- 
dulgence in their poisonous beverage, bearing fusil's 
rankest smell, flowing “free as water,” and by some 
degrees considered hotter than Hades. 


95 


Down in Arkansas 

The stupid old judge, whose grizzled head had 
again sunk on his breast during our laudable vindica- 
tion, now looked up with assumed interest in the pro- 
ceedings — just as I had seen justices do in Benton 
County — and drawled something like, “If zhe witness 
is through, stand a-shide.” He had no idea what had 
occurred during the past fifteen minutes ; but the 
silence which followed the outburst of applause im- 
pressed “his zohner” with a belief that something was 
expected of him. So he made a “pot shot” and hit a 
bird. The witness was really through and readily 
obeyed his superior. 

“Bring on zhe next witness — hie,” commanded the 
astute jurist. Another random shot, though it failed 
to connect, and caused even the long-haired loiterers 
to giggle with hen-yard jollity. 

“Zhe jedge has took er little too much,” they apolo- 
gized. “Good fellow ; unerstahns law ; smarter ’an er 
briar ; only fault,” etc., they frequently repeated. 

We had known many other “smart fellows” who 
had the same “only fault,” and when drunk used the 
same argument in extenuation of their weakness. 
Separate characteristics, such as genius and depravity, 
sometimes inhabit the same human form, rendering 
man a dual being, one of whom we esteem and ap- 
plaud; but knowing him to be in bad company, we 
shun him, preferring less brilliant though more whole- 
some associates. And we had other reasons for avoid- 
ing the intellectual high priest of the Jacobin court. 

The bailiff appeared to understand the situation. 


A Rehearing of Our Case 

and approached the judge with a view of posting him 
on certain matters that had escaped his judicial mind, 
thus enabling his honor to render a popular decision 
when sober enough to express himself. 

Much pleased with the turn of affairs, the little 
matter of awaiting the Court’s resumption of capacity 
was as nothing, surrounded by friends — moonshiners, 
to be sure, but friends nevertheless, even admirers. 
The Bostonian had said he hoped the acquaintance 
“thus strangely formed would ripen into lasting friend- 
ship.” Already we were sharing his prophetic decla- 
ration. 

An hour before these same transgressors, in a 
frenzy of revengeful, fighting lust, had longed to get 
at our throats. Now that they believed us in sympathy 
with their kind of outlawry, we were great people in 
their estimation — monumental hypocrites in our own, 
seemingly excusable under the circumstances. Some 
of them, more audacious or “more drunk” than others, 
actually embraced the Bostonian and called him pet 
names. Under a changed atmosphere the acquaintance 
was ripening “all right” — in fact, had already reached 
the mellow state of maturity, and if liquor continued 
to flow, would become putrid in another hour. Under 
more favorable conditions our companion would have 
spurned such familiarities. Yet, aristocrat though he 
was, he knew a “good thing” when he saw it, and 
played the role of “hail fellow well met,” accepting 
their attentions with reciprocal modesty. The rest 
of us were swept by the moonshiners’ effusive blast of 


97 


Down in Arkansas 

admiration, so that no cause for jealousies existed, and 
we made the best of the situation by appearing to 
share in their enthusiasm and friendship. 

Whisky and zeal were running a mad race on a 
slippery course, and if we could only induce “ ’is ’oner” 
to render a decision before the heat was finished, we 
were confident of exoneration. We wished to leave 
the cave before reaction set in, as to be housed with 
the Hill Billies when the headache period should strike 
them was portentous of failure. 

During the interval of goodfellowship, the bailiff 
continued his conversation with the judge. Arousing 
himself with mighty effort, he cast sheepish glances 
about the great room, coughed significantly, and re- 
quested that the prisoners be lined up for his decision. 
Evidently the cap had come off his egotism. We con- 
fronted him cheerfully, aware that anything short of 
acquittal meant a row in his bailiwick, if not impeach- 
ment by his adherents. 

“Sorry to see you looking bad, judge,” ventured 
the lawyer patronizingly. 

“Yes,” said the old liar, “I’m suffering from grip ; 
scarcely able to perform my functions to-night,” ac- 
companied by a graveyard cough as proof of his 
ailment. 

“It must indeed be trying,” was the lawyer’s sym- 
pathetic rejoinder. 

Some more compliments and falsehoods were ex- 
changed. By this time “ ’is ’oner” had so far recovered 
his furloughed faculties as to deliver his sententious 

98 


A Rehearing of Our Case 

opinion thus : “The court has all the testimony in this 
case, an’ heshitates not to say — heshitates — heshi- 
tates — ” (the coupling-pin came out of his heavily 
loaded train of thought, causing a rhetorical wreck) 
“heshitates not to say that it forms an unbroken chain 
of evidence at once clear, concise, and cogent; terse, 
pointed, and logical; potent, forcible, and comprehen- 
sive; syllogistic, expressive, and convincing; there- 
fore, the accused stahn adhudged Innocent 

The Hill Billies rose and then cried “Hurrah !” 

As with yelling, prone to “bust” us, 

And with lusty cheers for old Arkansaw, 

Gave a tiger for the justice. 

And the proud lawyer, with look of surprise, 

As one humbled by solemn awe, 

Opening his mouth and closing his eyes 
Silently blessed Hill Billy law. 

The speculator jumped upon a big boulder and 
proposed three cheers to the “friendship thus strangely 
formed.” The moonshiners — other than those too 
drunk to raise a disturbance — howled themselves 
hoarse over the weighty, verbiaged decision which 
closed a bit of folly as disgusting as ever disgraced a 
Jacobin court. The Bostonian blushed as if still in 
the throes of rhetorical nightmare, and pointing his 
finger at the half dozen or so sprawled on the floor, 
said: “Don’t yell, gentlemen; the poor fellows are 
frightfully ill.” 


99 


CHAPTER X 


a moonshiner's curse 
Our Friend's Identity 

His honor came down off the bench, cordially shook 
our hands, and warmly congratulated us on our escape 
“from justice." 

Notwithstanding the old blatherskite’s self-impor- 
tance, he had the manhood to apologize for our having 
been brought before the bar on a flimsy excuse. “You 
see, men," said he, “our boys rejoice over your 
acquittal; conclusive proof that the decision is upheld 
not only by the evidence, but by public opinion — a 
mighty factor in enforcing the law’s mandates. Un- 
fortunately, such is not always the case, and when 
otherwise is a source of regret to the honest judiciary. 
Certain arbitrary laws, lacking public indorsement, 
wrongfully exist. Therefore their enforcement is dif- 
ficult and uncertain, even by the powerful institution 
of government." 

We understood imperfectly. Doubtless he had an 
erroneous idea, and in a lengthened argument evinced 
his revolutionary principles, which, like the fiat-money 


ioo 


A Moonshiner’s Curse 

proposition, was too complex for the laymen of the 
party. The lawyer only appeared to be interested in 
the morbid discussion, and must have comprehended 
the force of threatened convulsion in the State. His 
features folded like the leaves of the sensitive briar, 
and he came nearly fainting when the old Jacobin was 
done. 

“Ah, I see you comprehend me,” said the judge; 
“you are a man of brains yourself.” And he took off 
his hat out of respect to the pair of them. The judge 
belonged to that type of men found in every little town. 
He had done everything, had seen everything, heard 
everything, and knew it all. He could produce a per- 
fect “system of satisfaction.” He knew just how to 
run this government, and if the fools would only listen, 
could give the whole world some valuable pointers. 
Doubtless when he shall reach the unknown beyond 
he will revolutionize the system over there; and it is 
certain that unless the apostate angels meet him with a 
band and bared heads, he will come back to the hills 
where he has a little plant of his own. It is therefore 
hoped the perverted renegades will do their full duty. 

“You are broad enough to appreciate the revenge- 
ful spirit of our organization at this time, and I have 
little doubt you will overlook the errors of its zeal,” 
“ ’is ’oner” finally remarked, in manner subdued. We 
were astonished to hear him, our late enemy, speak 
in this way. Clearly our detention was regarded as 
a serious mistake. He was making a final, foxy effort 
to purchase our peace with political views which, be- 


IOI 


Down in Arkansas 

cause of the lawyer’s pretensions, the judge believed to 
be the cardinal principles of our faith. Thus our own 
hypocrisy was visited upon us. Alas ! how often has 
blessed religion been perverted in the same way. But 
the attorney assured the old man that no malice was 
entertained; that we only regretted the existence of 
arbitrary laws ; and that the government should get 
its revenue through some less expensive agency and 
by some less demoralizing process, though all live with 
more freedom under our form of government than any 
other on earth. 

“True, too true,” muttered the Jacobin leader; “but 
what’s the use now? The contention is old; gradual 
encroachment makes criminals of freemen; suppres- 
sion of individuality is the diet of fat government. We 
have been hounded by the fee-grabbing revenue officers 
until too deeply incensed either to forbear or forgive.’ 

About the corners of his pinched mouth nervous 
twitching betokened his aversion to all systems of gov- 
ernment. Tainted with Jacobinism, violent and fac- 
tious, the pitiful old man contended with masterful 
enmity. In a spirit of charity we asked ourselves if 
his sort of legal offenses were not really due to miscon- 
ceptions respecting indefeasible rights? If wickedness 
in a large degree were not weakness? Followed by a 
long train of allied interrogations, concluding with the 
opinion that no man is broader in voluntary conduct 
than is his conception of what he believes is right, no 
law bigger than one’s moral grasp. 

The loss of a loved son, killed only a few days be- 


102 


A Moonshiner’s Curse 

fore by raiders, and the separation of an idolized only 
daughter from her husband, who was forced to flee 
from the State, all for the crime of moonshining, filled 
the old judge’s mind with bitter memories. Turbulent 
demagogue though he was, now that all had been made 
clear we could only feel sorry for him, and said no 
more. Finally he mastered his emotion and came to 
say good-by. We could not, did not try to, resist his 
outstretched hands, but gave him our own in sym- 
pathy. We were willing — yea, glad — to forgive them 
all, though he was not so charitable toward those whom 
he believed had wronged him. 

When “ ’is ’oner” had bidden all good-by, he turned 
to our legal friend and said : “Attorney, I wish to say 
before leaving the cave that your detention, heretofore 
briefly named, was wholly due to the late violent acts 
of our deadly enemies, and it is my belief that all of 
your party could live among these mountains and never 
more be molested. Ordinarily we are a quiet and moral 
people, but revengeful to the core; yes, to the bitter 
end” 

A more wicked and vicious piece of humanity never 
did Satan’s bidding, perhaps, and other than he his 
majesty probably never had a more willing agent. 
Trembling with rage, he staggered away from us, and 
with his face to the fire leaned upon the great hollow 
pillar, the very incarnation of revenge. Stripped of 
all pretense of dignity, fierce and ungovernable, awful 
in the vanity of his scorn, now in a state of combustion 
bordering on insanity, his hate-fired, whisky-soaked 


103 


Down in Arkansas 

brain sloughed off denunciations on law and order; 
and then, with oath upon oath too terrible for mortal 
ears, put a curse upon his enemies. 

Fearing he might discover the brace of revolvers, 
we went directly to him, and the lawyer endeavored to 
console him with: “The matter is perfectly satisfactory, 
your honor; our detention is of little moment, and we 
have been fairly treated.” Then he boldly asked the 
irate judge to name the organization’s inflexible and 
relentless foe. “What ! Had I not told you his despised 
name? Why, men, he is a veritable fiend, the devil!” 
and the old moonshiner paced the floor in his wrath. 

“The devil, eh?” the lawyer repeated, pretending 
he did not understand. “Why, judge, the evil one is 
the enemy of all.” 

“Yes, the dog is a devil, spy, hypocrite, and mur- 
derer!” roared the grizzled old mountaineer, “and his 
name is in every mouth now. The superstitious even 
claim to have heard it pronounced in murmurings and 
in whispers about the very cave : ‘Czaneh,’ or ‘Cazan’ ; 
and by those who would make a hero of the dastard, 
because of his crimes committed in the very name of 
law , is called ‘Oo-loo, or 'Lulu. 5 ” 

Our astonishment was expressed in looks of silent 
wonder. Lulu Czaneh, spy, hypocrite, murderer. My, 
what a “rep.” for a newcomer; all these in one — a 
trinity of depravity equaled only in opium joints and 
brothels. 

“Too bad, too bad,” ran through our dazed minds. 
Not too bad that he was all of these bad things ; but 


104 


A Moonshiner’s Curse 

too bad that our fabric of fancy was consumed by a 
spark from our enemy, the friend. 

We had believed Lulu Cazan a ghost or password. 
Ha, ha! the detective, eh? And we knew his number 
was Four Times Fourteen. Ghost, bosh! Password, 
pshaw ! 

“Never mind , never mind ” rose a declamatory 
voice, “revenge is the unwritten law of the oppressed, 
and we are the people who know how and when to en- 
force it. May the vengeance of overpowering ’ell pur- 
sue the government’s mean, sneaking hirelings.” 

The cavernous earth took up the empty curse, bear- 
ing it away along the dark corridors to the retreating 
moonshiners, whose ignoble plaudits came back on 
listening ears in intermittent, hollow groans. Startled, 
we looked around. The old man was gone. 


105 


CHAPTER XI 


A SHEET OF PINK PAPER 

A Strange Visitor 

The long-suffering prisoners returned to the fire 
a moment after the old judge left the cave, and with 
assumed levity endeavored to forget the living phan- 
tom’s awful declaration of hatred. Immediately they 
awakened to the gravity of their situation ; though 
acquitted, they were still imprisoned, and though ex- 
onerated, they were virtually abandoned in one of the 
most dismal inter-spaces of mother earth. The moon- 
shiners had steadily staggered out, going in several 
directions, until all had disappeared save the pacific 
sacrifices stretched out on the floor. Apparently we 
were deserted by friend and foe alike. Since the re- 
convening of court, our beloved Four Times Fourteen 
had not once been seen, though through the tiresome 
hours of the trial and the drunken revelry his last 
words, “Brace of revolvers behind the pillar,” kept 
ringing in our ears as a proof of his fealty. But, thank 
God, as yet we had had no occasion to go for the 
“guns”; and though we should perish while seeking 

106 


A Sheet of Pink Paper 

to escape from this composite cavity of crime and 
provocation, we were grateful that no stain of blood 
was upon our souls. The world was big enough for 
us all — the unrighteous moonshiner; the needy thief; 
even the pitiless scoundrel who through chicanery robs 
his family or friend^, gets rich by taking undue ad- 
vantage of his helpless fellowmen, and who, with a 
showing of honesty and legality, schemes by night to 
steal by day; yea, for the murderer, slanderer, and 
seducer; we would kill none of these. 

There are times when justice seems to sleep on one’s 
rights ; when innocence is crowded to the very brink of 
despair; when money is helpless to do our bidding; 
and even when our own talents availeth not ; yea, when 
only the intervention of our friends may serve us well. 
Then is Christ’s most perfect manhood exemplified, 
then is thy brother the personification of a god. Four 
Times Fourteen had been all this to us, and such the 
response of our hearts to kindness, we longed to show 
a proper appreciation of the man that had risked so 
much for our sake. Why had he not come from hid- 
ing to share in the joy of our conquest? Ah, maybe 
he was of that sterling virtue, “a friend in need,” at 
the time shrinking from eulogism. 

“Oh, detective, ghost, or password ! Oh, friend of 
the distressed ! Where art thou ?” thundered.the specu- 
lator’s double bass voice. 

“And the friendly giant! Oh, where in all this 
subterranean gloom hast thou secluded thy peculiar 
configuration ?” 


107 


Down in Arkansas 

“Hush, hist !” But it was only the whispering walls 
in very mockery mumbling his dolorous syllables, and 
at the conclusion of another paragraph of perplexity 
old King Silence placed a big black period. 

How very dear these friends had become! We 
feared misfortune had overtaken them ; and, as with 
Concealed art, how interesting they seemed now that 
we could not fathom their every movement. 

Facing the fire, all sat down on the floor. The 
speculator removed his collar, unbuttoned his shirt at 
the top, took off his shoes, spread a handkerchief over 
them, and laid down flat on his back, with the footwear 
under his head. In a brief time the others did pretty 
much the same thing. Conversation lagged ; the few 
loitering words fell on listless ears ; and, uncompli- 
mented by replies, these ceased altogether. 

For want of copious circulation, or because of bad 
air, the fire too seemed drowsy; the room was smoky 
and dreary; and on the dark background naught was 
visible save the hollow pillar, now gray and ghostly; 
and with that power of wildered mind again was seen, 
as by stereopticon exhibition, the living phantom lean- 
ing upon it, and again was heard anew the awful blas- 
phemy sweeping through the empty corridors. And 
by its side was another mortal image, the two enveloped 
in vapor, rising and falling with the fire’s intermittent 
flashes ; and when the blaze waned and flickered, there, 
perfectly outlined even as to features, were the simi- 
lized figures. How changed the latter since seen in 
town and country, where, with illimitable suavity and 


108 


A Sheet of Pink Paper 

assumed gentility, friends were made by the hundreds, 
and even at Sunday-school and church, where, with 
prayer-aping humility, high standing had been estab- 
lished. Now, in encouraging the first to anger, the 
last also lost temper, and while smiling scornfully its 
face grew animate with indignation, and, all imperious 
in manner, its frown full of terror and its glance as the 
electric spark forced from the orbless socket of a skull. 
It is the murderer, the pitiless robber, the slanderer, 
the seducer, and lo! the moonshiner too. Yes, the 
great adversary of man, chief of the apostate angels, 
fiendish, malicious, and diabolical. 

“Go away ! Go away, Mr. Devil ! We never did 
you any harm !” hollered the speculator. And we 
awoke, left the fire, and lay down again with our backs 
to the frightful scene. 

Dreadful dream, dreadful dream, and yet how real ! 

Lapsing into silence, we lay long on our backs, and 
with wide-open eyes and attentive ears looked and 
listened for some signal or sound, some greeting from 
afar ; but only the occasional and familiar “Oo-loo-cis- 
zis” fell upon our senses. So far as our environment 
was concerned, we had little use for eyes and ears, 
since these deceptive organs only served to increase our 
already large assortment of domestic difficulties. 
Wings and a spook vocabulary were the things need- 
ful to put us in social touch with the habitants of that 
geological range. After an elapse of several solemn 
minutes, however, there appeared upon the ceiling a 
greenish light no larger than one’s hand; and fancy 


109 


Down in Arkansas 

believed this to be reflected by a blaze beneath the 
embers, as does a flame through the opening in a stove 
door. But soon distinct footfalls were heard overhead, 
the pale unsteady light moved along and settled down 
ten paces away, and for a full minute was motionless, 
then with a flight disappeared. Again the footfalls, 
though less clearly, as if rounding an obstruction or 
retreating ; and so fearful were we lest the intruder be 
startled, neither heard the other’s soft breathing, silence 
equaled only where there are no ears to listen; and 
then, without the slightest intimation, the balcony-like 
projection midway between the floor and ceiling glowed 
as if impregnated with non-reflecting phosphorescence, 
and there, leaning out over a baluster of prisms, was an 
imposing dark figure, a woman clad in close-fitting 
plain garments, apparently searching for someone in 
the room below her. Not a word was uttered, not a 
sound disturbed her, and the intervening space was so 
hazy that, though lying almost beneath her, she could 
not have discerned us. But the moonshiners were 
nearer the fireplace, and though much farther away, she 
may have seen them from a distance. As if nerved to 
her task, whatever it may have been, she was most 
deliberate in all her maneuvers, time and again look- 
ing backward over her shoulders as if expectant or 
wistful, and bending her head as do the birds when 
mating, she murmured a prayer, a dulcet message, to 
the God above her. Again and again she would take 
firm hold of the railing, a bar of stalagmite, and, lean- 
ing far out on the balcony, researched the premises to 


no 


A Sheet of Pink Paper 

make sure that no one observed her. Finally she stood 
erect, unbuttoned her dress waist, and, thrusting her 
hand within, brought forth a long, keen dagger. 

“My God! oh, spare her, spare her!” and only for 
overpowering terror we should have cried aloud, 
though before we recovered she bent downward and 
forward, we keeping perfectly quiet — resolved, how- 
ever, to thwart her design if the anticipated were at- 
tempted. Just then she raised up, looked about, and 
calmly laid the knife and several inches of shoe- 
string on the baluster before her. Then deliberately 
unlaced her snow-white bodice, turned half round with 
her face from us, put her bared hand into her bosom, 
and pulled out a folded sheet of pink paper. Now for 
the first time she raised her heavy double veil, dis- 
closing the lower half of her beautiful face, and from 
her mouth took something, placed it on or in the sheet 
of paper, carefully wrapped the two articles together 
with the shoe-string, and leaning far out dropped the 
parcel to the floor beneath her ; and it fell within a rod 
of our feet. 

In an instant the mellow light disappeared from 
the gorgeous balcony, as did also the willowy form of 
a High-Born Lady. 

We had believed the place where she stood was only 
a solid rock ceiling; now we realized how little we 
knew respecting the great cavern. 

No sooner had her footsteps died away in the un- 
known upper gallery than, provided with a torch, three 
of the party went searching for the fallen missive, 
in 


Down in Arkansas 

hoping, of course, that it would explain her presence 
and bear tidings from our long-absent benefactors. For 
who, other than such as they, in this wild region de- 
served to know the High-Born Lady? 

Who dare lay claim to such friendship, if it were 
friendship that brought her to this dismal quarter? 
Though of course we conjectured that a deeper motive 
was at bottom in this affair. However, if the com- 
munication were for us, why did not she call out ? Ah, 
she did not see us; but, yes, she may have discerned 
the moonshiners by the fireside. Yet it could not be; 
her every movement demonstrated that she believed 
herself wholly alone. 

“What a remarkable place this is, at any rate,” re- 
marked the Bostonian. “Realities seem no more than 
preposterous dreams of fancy. On the contrary, the un- 
real is clothed with superior potency. Only a brief time 
since, Satan, embodied, stood beside the living phan- 
tom, in a dream so real that even now we all but believe 
it true. And a while ago the beautiful, unknown 
woman stood upon yonder balcony with the weight of 
love on her swelling breast, and leaning far over the 
baluster, dropped the missive before our very eyes, 
and yet even now, we are in doubt whether she is a 
creature of flesh and blood, jor only the ornamental 
image of dethroned reason. Oh, may auspicious hope 
hover round thy throbbing heart ; may reason linger in 
thy aching brain till encouragement comes, as ’twill 
like the white dawn’s creeping beams, to dispel the 
gloom and dissolve overpowering mysteries.” 


112 


A Sheet of Pink Paper 

Yes, though utterly ridiculous, what we believed 
wholly false was tame compared to what proved to 
have been literally true, though at variance with com- 
mon sense. 

The parcel was easily found, and to our surprise it 
was attached to a black silken thread, reaching from 
the floor to the balcony above. 

I shall never forget how eagerly the speculator 
seized that sheet of paper, nor the look on his dear face, 
when the Bostonian laid his hand on our fat compan- 
ion’s arm, saying gently but firmly: “Spec, that paper 
is sacred ; I will not permit you to open it.” 

“ Damn it, man, have you lost your head ?” snapped 
the speculator. 

“No, nor my honor either, my good friend. I have 
reasoned fairly; this is not a message for us, and the 
very respectability of that queenly woman forbids that 
gentlemen pry into her correspondence. She is a lady 
and you may depend her letter is for gentlemen and 
that it is of grave importance there can be no doubt. 
Until we shall see farther, I shall insist on leaving 
the parcel where and as we found it.” 

“You’re right, Boss ; I was hasty and beg your par- 
don, indeed I do, and thank you also. There will be 
time enough when all other hope of escape has fled 
to ” 

“And even then,” interrupted the Bostonian, “it 
should be opened under a solemn vow never to divulge 
its precious contents.” 

“From the bottom of my heart, I am grateful to 

1 13 


Down in Arkansas 

you,” the speculator concluded, and the two friends 
shook hands over the sheet of pink paper. 

We returned to the fireside and related the circum- 
stance to the lawyer, who sided with the Bostonian, 
saying: “Why, it would be criminal to pry into her 
affairs, though I had not before seen it in this light. 
Her letter shall be as sacred as if it came through the 
ordinary channels. As a last resort, we may open the 
parcel, but not before.” 

“What day of the month is this any way ?” queried 
the speculator irrelevantly, but thoughtfully. 

After some hesitation : “The 25th,” was the reply. 
“Sure?” 

“Yes, why?” 

“Well, there is a little piece of paper that reminds 


“Ah, say, now, Spec, dismiss that from your mind.” 
“Oh, I have, but it isn’t likely the other fellow can.” 
“What do you mean?” 

“I owe a little note in bank, due to-day.” 

“Oh, ah, I see!” 

“And what day of the week is it ?” the speculator re- 
joined. 

“Yesterday was Thursday, don’t you know ?” 

“Well, I be derned then ; I thought so. Bad luck to 
the bank.” 


CHAPTER XII 


A BRAWL IN THE PASSAGE 

A Woman in Black 

During the time that search was being made for 
the parcel, the lawyer rekindled the fire and round it a 
sort of retrospective view was had. Our friends, the 
mules, came up in our minds, of course, and we specu- 
lated as to how the poor things had fared through the 
long night. Gaunt, hungry and dying of thirst. 
“Curry, water and feed regularly, men,” had said the 
confiding liveryman as we drove away from the stable. 

“Sure, kind sir,” had been our reply, a rash promise 
indeed, though given in gooc faith. Still we had done 
our best for the poor beasts, therefore bade conscience 
be still. 

“Well,” said the Bostonian, “I get considerable 
comfort from the thought that his muleship cannot 
think and feel as do we poor mortals.” 

“Nor can it sing like a bird,” chirruped the specu- 
lator. 

“You should have named another negative virtue,” 


H5 


Down in Arkansas 

observed the sedate lawyer. “It can only be a donkey, 
man may be any sort of an ass.” 

We wondered if it had rained without. If our pro- 
visions and forage were ruined. If the Democrats had 
carried Ohio. If Weyler would be Czar when Spain 
got through “licking us.” If the Governor of Arkan- 
sas had dominion over all the people of his State or 
only the righteous few on the outside. If Simm’s Hol- 
low Earth theory were true. If so, we had found the 
grand entrance. And a hundred just such topics were 
discussed, while waiting for “something to turn up.” 
The fire burned with ever-varying tints. The great 
room had never before seemed so bright and cheerful. 
Yes, something good was going to happen. Every one 
felt it or pretended he did, and in the very face of un- 
certainty, the travelers made merry. The Bostonian 
was reminiscent and told some good Sunday-school 
stories ; the attorney bristled with brilliancy, and be- 
fore the fire “Old Spec” was brilliant with bristles. 

The brace of revolvers was mentioned and his 
Heavies put off in a trot after them, returning five 
minutes later, coming from the opposite direction. 

We looked round to greet him and lo, found a 
changed man. His Socratic vein of humor had flown. 
He was a combination of various moods. His coun- 
tenance was blanched and his voice heavy with peni- 
tential groans. 

“Why, .Spec, what is it ?” exclaimed a companion. 

Shaking his head : “Em blamed if I know.” 

“What is the matter, man?” 

ii 6 


A Brawl in the Passage 

“Matter, well.” 

“Where are the guns?” 

“Guns?” 

“Yes, what did you do with the guns?” 

“What did I do with them? Well, fellows, there 
are no guns, little or big, in that neck of darkness.” 

We were puzzled beyond expression. Four Times 
Fourteen had said they were behind the pillar. We cer- 
tainly had implicit faith in his word. 

“But,” said the Bostonian, “what use have we for 
such things in any event? The drunken moonshiners 
probably carried them away.” 

“It’s not the disappearance of the guns, fellows, but 
an apparition, a sure enough live ghost that ” 

“Ghost, bosh!” 

“A perambulating password out on a lark,” twitted 
a second. 

“Another vision, looking up a delinquent K. P.,” 
said a third. 

“Make sport if you like, all the same I saw the 
slender form o' a woman emerge from yonder black 
cavity, and creeping along the silent wall with her back 
to me, she entered the pillar. I believe I am no coward, 
though I confess to having been transfixed on behold- 
ing a frail woman alone in that improbable gloomy 
quarter. Now tell me, doubters, was she flesh and 
blood, hair and teeth, or just one o’ them things that 
has been trotting around here ?” 

“Deuced strange,” said the Bostonian. 

“Devilish queer,” admitted the lawyer. 

ii 7 


Down in Arkansas 

“Why in the blazes don’t you fellows say some- 
thing original once in a while ?” the speculator re- 
torted. 

“For the very good reason that you are the disciple 
of Origin and occupy the field of discovery,” was the 
lawyer’s curt answer. 

“Well, ridicule never dethroned a fact,” Spec re- 
plied. “And I say to you in all candor, that while 
cautiously rounding the darkened side of the pillar, 
crouching against the opposite wall, I saw her white 
hand steal forth, like a mouse, and grasp a leather belt 
to which was attached revolvers and cartridges, lying 
between me and the light. Instantly these disappeared 
within and just then was repeated, more distinctly 
than ever before, that soft Oo-loo, and as if to break 
the monotony, was preceded by the strange whisk or 
whirr.” 

“Why did you not call out ?” 

“Well, I hadn’t my voice with me for one thing and 
I feared to pry into the other fellow’s private affairs, 
you see.” 

“Oh, ah.” 

“She betook herself toward the inlet by which we 
entered the cave, and I betook myself toward you fel- 
lows.” 

“Very, very odd.” 

“Yes, it is deuced strange and devilish queer and 
all that, and then some.” 

“Well, Spec?” 

“And when she was far away, I glanced over my 
118 


A Brawl in the Passage 

shoulder and hope I may die dead, and stay dead, if I 
didn’t see that mellow light that awhile ago was on 
yonder balcony. Say, fellows, I am blamed if I don’t 
believe that a plot’s being incubated, and when we at- 
tempt to leave this ‘dugout,’ we’ll be assassinated.” 

“Never by the hand of woman,” the Bostonian pro- 
tested, “whose very nature is softened beyond the per- 
fidious plotting of murders.” 

“Though tender, she is flexible,” contended the 
cynic, “though pitiful and humane, she readily yields 
to man’s conscious dominion, therefore she may be- 
come the tool of his intrigues.” 

“Well, friends,” said the speculator, as if to divert 
their minds, “we are at least secure from storms, as 
well as from the collector and assessor.” 

“Poor consolation for an honest man.” 

“And yet better than none.” 

“You are an optimist, Spec.” 

“Yes, when selling.” 

“And when sold?” 

“A bargain.” 

“Say, Fatty, were you ever serious in your life?” 

“Yes, indeed.” 

“Well?” 

“When Kansas City real estate went down, I went 
up.” 

And they fell to discussing probabilities and im- 
probabilities. 

“Death may seem harsh after one has got used to the 
ways of the world and an income,” finally remarked our 
119 


Down in Arkansas 

once obese friend, “but unless we soon get out of this 
damned hole, Tt'Abe resigned to cross the ‘River. Styx’ 
on a raft/’ 

“If it is the same to the Hill Billy moonshiners, I 
prefer being transported in a balloon to the sunny 
southern bank of the Caddo,” dryly remarked the at- 
torney, kicking the fire as if to italicise his mood. 

The new mystery, like all else new, claimed atten- 
tion for the time, to the exclusion of various other 
complex considerations. Even the all-important mat- 
ter of food and drink ceased to remind us of our fam- 
ished condition, now that in this corridored cavern 
was something to live for, to strive for ; yea, to fathom ; 
that very grand, wonderful worthy, for whom man has 
lived and striven for, and fathomed not — woman. 

The speculator’s story had been accepted with 
avidity, since, being a man of good sense and excep- 
tional courage, he could neither be easily deceived nor 
alarmed, and his looks and actions convinced us of his 
earnestness. And had we not seen with our own eyes, 
the fair Juliet, searching the premises for her truant 
Romeo ? Organized into an amateur detective force, we 
went abroad in quest of the fragile Queen of Night. 
Avoirdupois assumed to pilot the party through the 
unexplored recesses, though notwithstanding our long 
fast, he was too slow and his shrunken sides seemed to 
flap, about and shut out the view. So “Culture,” for 
the first time in that cave or in the country, perhaps, 
took the lead; “Intellect” second in file, Guide third 
and Fatty in the rear. For some minutes we tiptoed 


120 


A Brawl in the Passage 

about in this form, feeling our way along the damp 
walls and craning our necks at the slig' i£st rustle of a 
wing. 

However, we saw nothing except some bats, silent 
as spooks in twilight, flitting from chamber to cham- 
ber, apparently looking for a queen of their own. 

“It seems too blasted bad that these bird-like bats v 
were not crossed with glow worms or something of 
that ilk,” said Spec. 

“Or with bank-swallows,” insinuated the lawyer. 

“Why these?” his Heavies queried. 

“So their gibberish could be translated into Eng- 
lish, as you did that of the guinea hen and the stutter- 
ing owls.” 

“It isn’t likely you would be pleased with my version 
of the original, therefore lead us not into temptation.” 

We dropped down on some boulders, scanning the 
gloomy distance for the “mellow light” or any other 
kind of a light, and listened for a female voice, or any 
other voice, and though none of these were seen or 
heard, our attentive ears were rewarded. 

“Be still, be still,” each whispered to the other. 

The ripple of running water. “Thank God,” all 
exclaimed as with one breath. Again silent. Sure 
enough there it was, but where? The rivulet was not 
far away, though doubtless lower than we, yet it could 
not then be definitely located. Water, water and none 
to drink. 

Some doubt began to move, with snail-like sluggish- 
ness, around the arena of our perceptive faculties. The 


121 


Down in Arkansas 

idea of a helpless female wandering unattended 
through the caverned earth seemed preposterous. 
What use had she for deadly weapons? Probably 
chased his own shadow around the pillar ; yes, Spec was 
mistaken. Where had she flown in her black robes? 
And a legion of kindred questions came up, took seats 
in the amphitheater of our imaginations, and looked 
over the latest sensations. Maybe after all, hunger and 
thirst, uncertainty and gloom, had turned our dear 
friend’s head. Perhaps we had better awaken the silent 
sleepers and bribe them to take us out by some other 
inlet. Yes, the moonshiners were pretty good fellows 
after all. Glad they stayed over. Glad they were 
drunk, and all but wished we too were drunk, for we 
were feeling mighty sociable, like other folks when they 
want a favor “right bad.” 

In straggling we came upon a spring, clear as plate- 
glass, pure as amber; probably the very one to which 
the moonshiners resorted for consultation and refresh- 
ment. Ah, had the rascals indulged only in this life-giv- 
ing liquid, even now, we might have been on the out- 
side, outside of the State, in sunshine, God’s glorious 
sunshine. We got down on our hands and knees and 
quaffed the limpid water. How sweet and refreshing 
it was, the only fluid that puts out fire and quenches 
thirst ; water, blessed water, God be praised. Our cir- 
cuit brought us near the fire; how low it had burned; 
just the faintest, swooning blaze glimmered and flick- 
ered, and then the dying flame, like forgetfulness, 
wrapped itself in eternal non-existence, leaving us in 


122 


A Brawl in the Passage 

darkness, unbroken by a spark and in silence undis- 
turbed by a vibration ; blending each into the other, as 
the gases, a compact body of grave nothingness, so 
oppressive as to be felt and so silent we could all but 
hear ourselves think. We dropped down on boulders 
and listened to our heart’s throb, Dirige gressus me os. 

Buried beneath the smokeless mound of gray ashes, 
the smouldering embers charring the center of a large 
log that lay beneath them, till, by the weight of its 
heavy protuding ends, it snapped asunder, clearing 
away the heap of cinders, freeing a yellow blaze that, 
leaping upon the exuding resin rose like a fountain, 
flashing a flood of light over the prismatic walls and 
golden canopied roof of the cavern. 

“Oo-loo, zip-zane-eh,” from an adjoining room re- 
marked a bat or ghost or whatever it was that did the 
official verbal act about the premises. 

“Changed its vocabulary slightly,” the Bostonian 
remarked. 

“Different audience,” suggested the lawyer. 

We glanced at each other as to discern the ravages 
of time and worry. About the face of the speculator, 
diverging from his eves, was a new system of wrinkles, 
which, doubtless, had been recently flooded with tears 
and navigated by regrets. The lawyer looked as if 
he had sat up all night to hate somebody, and the Bos- 
tonian as if escape were a lost cause. 

The speculator gaped, languidly raised on his 
haunches, and turning to his companions, drawled out : 
“I say there, fellows ” 


123 


Down in Arkansas 

A pistol shot rang out far away in the cave. Im- 
mediately followed by the terrific shriek of a woman; 
then the second and third discharge of the weapon, and 
the female’s clamorous murmurs. 

“The panther, the panther,” exclaimed the lawyer. 

“Never, never,” the Bostonian ejaculated. “For 
God’s sake, men, let us see what means this tumult.” 

Hastening to the fire, each grabbed a brand from the 
coals, and then passed on toward the riotous quarter. 

As we approached, most violent imprecations issued 
from a narrow, high-arched passage, leading outward. 
Entering this, single file, we held the torches high above 
our heads, and when a point was reached where the 
crevice broadened, some stone slabs were recognized 
as being those seen on entering the cavern. Soon we 
came to a sharp turn, also remembered, and projecting 
rocks over which we scrambled, and then entered a 
long straight channel. Our lights were burning feebly 
and we lined up abreast, hurrying on as fast as nerve- 
tired legs would take us. A hundred yards in advance 
was a pale, greenish light, which we approached with 
apprehension. Again the floodgates of profanity 
opened up, the torrent of blasphemy issuing from some- 
one withered by vexation, swept down and smote our 
ears as never but once before in our existence. We 
came to a full stop ; our torches were little more than 
live coals now, and the darkness was impenetrable. 
We had not proceeded ten feet when the light disap- 
peared, leaving us without a beacon. We were about 
to call out when a new and brighter light loomed up 
124 


A Brawl in the Passage 

before. Tiptoeing along, the speculator stumbled over 
a boulder. We stopped to assist him, and as we raised 
up the new light was flashed square in our faces. When 
removed myriads of glinting stars danced round and 
about and left us bewildered. The imprecations lapsed 
into harsh jargon. A strange voice, not wholly un- 
familiar, demanded our identity : “Who comes there ?” 

“The strangers^” was the ready reply. 

“Ah, good !” said the voice. “Come forward, gen- 
tlemen.” 

We stepped fearlessly into the full flood of light and 
beheld a couple of large men, wearing masks, and in 
dress and general outline as like as twins, one of whom 
lay upon the floor, the other bending over him with a 
bull’s-eye lantern. 

“Whom have we here?” the speculator asked, ad- 
dressing the latter. 

“A distinguished M. M. O. of U. S.,” said our late 
benefactor, Four-fortv-four, removing the torn and 
bloody mask from his companion’s face. 

“I say, Four-forty-four,” queried the speculator, 
“which one of you fellows is you?” 

The question amused one and irritated the other. 
A peculiar expression, once seen, never to be forgotten, 
passed over the fallen moonshiner’s countenance ; 
amazed, we stared into the face of the big Cabin 
Dweller, now helpless and bleeding profusely from his 
bruised temples. 

“Did you shoot him?” inquired the sympathetic 
Bostonian. 


125 


Down in Arkansas 

“Shoot him, ha-ha! It was he who did the can- 
nonading which doubtless brought you here. Exam- 
ine this and you will see what sort of marksman he 
was,” and Four- forty- four tossed at our feet the broad- 
brimmed white hat worn at our trial, and we found it 
punctured with bullet holes. 

“Lucky to have escaped with the loss of your hat,” 
suggested the lawyer. 

“Bless your dear heart, even that was his property.” 

“His, Four-forty-four?” 

“Yes, one I had borrowed for a specific purpose.” 

“Ah, I see.” But we did not fully grasp his mean- 
ing. 

“Well, it is fortunate for us all that you were not 
killed, good friend.” 

“He would a bin only fur that damned she-wolf of 
his’n,” growled the Cabin Dweller, but his tirade was 
cut short by Four- forty- four, who said firmly: “Not 
another word out of you, Ajax.” 

A small body of men, dressed as laborers, came 
running up, from toward the entrance, one of whom 
was directed to go forward and guard the passage, and 
the others were instructed to remove the big moon- 
shiner, “humanely as possible” to the “hold over.” 
“See to it, my men, that he escapes no more,” and then 
turning to us, the speaker said : “Will see you soon at 
the fire room, seven come eleven.” 

We thanked him courteously, but the Bostonian 
argued that, as we were in the passage leading out, we 
had as well continue our journey. 

126 


A Brawl in the Passage 

“By no means, you know not whereof you speak; 
you will go by another route.” 

With relighted torches, we set out on the return, re- 
plete with that ecstasy of emotion that only the eman- 
cipated can fully realize. At last encouragement had 
come ; the book of mystery had been opened before our 
eyes ; its introductory page already known by heart and 
soon we should know it all. God be praised. 

At the turn of rocks, we passed the watchman, who 
had changed his outer garments and with the regula- 
tion mask over his face, appeared to be one of the 
moonshiners. The speculator greeted him familiarly, 
even asked his name, with a view no doubt of formally 
presenting him to the rest of us, but the silent sentinel 
only bowed reply. 

The hollow pillar stood almost directly in our path 
and when near it, the speculator insisted on an exami- 
nation of its vault. While thus engaged, the eagle eye 
of the Bostonian discovered a crumpled sheet of white 
paper within. The speculator seized it and hurried off 
to the fire, where we found him endeavoring to read a 
cryptogram ; at least it was such to him. “Pshaw, fel- 
lows, it is the ragged end of nothing,” he said. 

“Let me have it, Spec,” and the Bostonian readily 
read the characters, for it was a short hand communica- 
tion and interpreted, read : 

“Dearest C : I will hand you this at the graveyard. 

Captured Ajax; now in charge two guards, on way. Danger- 
ous man. Tell brother to lock him up in outside cellar and 
guard till morning. Moonshiners drinking heavily. I am fear- 


127 


Down in Arkansas 

ful harm will come to strangers, whom I accompany. Pshaw, 
this upsets plans; arrests can’t be made to-night. Just this 
one more favor, little woman. God bless us. Good-bye. 

“Your own true 

“H. R.” 

Simply this and nothing more. The writing had 
been done with a pencil, marks of punctuation were 
only holes, as if the scrap of paper lay upon the writer’s 
knee, when the characters were made. Thus was re- 
vealed a whole chapter from the book of mysteries. 
There still remained, however, entanglements which 
baffled the lawyer’s synthesis, bewildered all others, 
and even now seems too intricate for narrative. 

Doubtless this Ajax, the Cabin Dweller, was to have 
been our accuser, and only that he had been appre- 
hended and detained, our lives even may have been 
sacrificed to the demon, Revenge. The very thought 
caused convulsive quivers to vibrate our nerves. 

That Four Times Fourteen and Four-forty-four 
were one and the same person, was no longer vague 
conjecture, though we did not understand how the de- 
tective, himself a large man, could increase his bulk and 
height to closely correspond with that of the giant. Yet 
the matter of his long absence was partially explained. 

Another material consideration, hardly so trans- 
parent, both interested and perplexed us; the young 
woman’s presence, and more particularly, her participa- 
tion in the tragic scenes of the passage. The brightest 
conception of the most logical brain could not fathom 
her, nor could the dullest thought of the most prosaic 


A Brawl in the Passage 

mind ignore her. In a fit of rage, the captured moon- 
shiner had implicated her; all who had seen her ad- 
mired her, and all that heard her shrieks pitied her. 

“Deuced strange, devilish queer,” quoted the specu- 
lator, anticipating the capitalists. 

“Yes, ’an ’nen some,” the Bostonian declared, falling 
in with the former’s slang habit. 

“Ah, friends, I have it,” exclaimed the lawyer. 

“Have what?” his companion asked. 

“An interesting abstract of the whole affair.” 

“Well?” 

“Evidently she was neither friend nor relative of 
the conquered, therefore her cries were not for hi . 
sake.” 

“Why, surely.” 

“Therefore this dauntless mountain pink is the con 
queror’s sweetheart, and her ardent manifestations wer 
for her lover’s safety.” 

“And, if so?” 

“He should ” 

“And doubtless does ” 

“Adore her, the 'High-Born Lady/ ” 


CHAPTER XIII 


ESCAPE FROM THE CAVE 

A Beautiful Beyond 

The very last of the wood had been consumed, even 
chumps and chunks gathered up and piled on the bed 
of coals. Fizzing green and blue flashes spread cadav- 
erous luster about the apartment, the silence of which 
was disturbed only by the heavy breathing of the 
sleepers, still lying in a tangled mass, where they had 
sprawled when knocked out by that mightiest of scrap- 
pers, John Barley-Corn, Esquire. 

Our legal friend’s assumption respecting the love 
affair, dispatched through our mind a train of thought, 
which was now rounding the sharp curves of analysis. 
A tall man was seen approaching from that quarter of 
the cave where the court had repaired during the trial. 
While yet in dark outline, he made a mysterious move- 
ment, perceived bv all, though comprehended only by 
one of us, who whispered : “The Detective.” With 
another stride he stood among us, and in a voice unlike 
that before used in our presence, said : “Rest quietly 
for a few minutes longer, gentlemen, and we will then 


130 


Escape from the Cave 

leave the cave.” Then he walked straight to the spot 
where the parcel had fallen. 

“Mighty glad I didn’t meddle with the mails,” said 
Spec. 

“I thought you would be,” the Bostonian replied, 
with quiet satisfaction. 

“I would like to know what’s in that little pink 
parcel,” the speculator rejoined. 

“We beg of you not to ask him,” said the others. 

The detective was clad in the coarse garments worn 
while masquerading as Four-forty-four, and the mask 
was still drawn over his face. At a glance he located 
the prostrate moonshiners, some of whom had lost 
their masks, but it did not materially change their 
countenances, and, raising the masks of the others, he 
looked searchingly into the distorted faces of all of 
them, then entered their respective cave numbers in a 
note-book. These multipliers, made of scarlet flannel, 
were pinned under the lapels of their jackets, and 
ranged between two times one and two times six, repre- 
sentative of small products, and probably signified that 
the wearers thereof were small potatoes in the organi- 
zation’s affairs. 

One times naught would have sized up the lot, and 
it seemed an unwarranted waste of figures and red 
flannel to number such nonentities. 

The lawyer took little interest in the detective’s per- 
formances, and with bowed head, sat patting the floor 
with his foot, denoting his abstraction. With a sigh he 
muttered to himself, “What becomes of all the sensa- 
tions men have in this world, I wonder?” 

131 


Down in Arkansas 

“What becomes of the postage stamps ?” was 
Spec’s jocular observation. The former’s trenchant 
wit was tinctured with delightful ridicule. We ex- 
pected a bon mot, but the interruption failed to change 
his drift of mind. Slapping him familiarly on the 
shoulder, the Bostonian queried: “Why this unvary- 
ing quietness, my brother?” 

“Only this : I was intently thinking of this young 
man, whose voice impressed me a while ago as being 
in a manner familiar.” 

“Doubtless, since all have heard him often; at the 
vehicle when we were arrested, during the trial and in 
the passage where the brawl occurred.” 

“Certainly, though I referred to anterior dates.” 

“Ah, well, association with him may clear the mat- 
ter in your mind.” 

“Yes, possibly. You know it occurs to me as ex- 
traordinary that one so gifted should select such a 
calling. Think of being all the time surrounded by 
criminals.” 

“Well, are we not to a large degree also ?” 

“Certainly, and needlessly so, it seems to me.” 

“Hazardous employment assuredly, though it 
proves that heredity is even stronger than environ- 
ment.” 

“Just what I was thinking when interrupted, and if 
he is who I believe he is, I shall have a good story to 
tell respecting his progenitors. However, to the point. 
Some years ago there was a young Philadelphian dis- 
tantly related to my family, who drifted to New York, 


132 


Escape from the Cave 

associating himself with the Pinkertons. He was a 
promising youth, then about eighteen, and I very 
much opposed his rash step though to no purpose.” 

At this moment the detective came nearer and said : 

‘If it please the gentlemen, we will now retire.” 

“Pleased, ha, ha!” exclaimed the speculator, “de- 
lighted.” 

“We have been waiting these dreary hours.” 

“Yes, the old judge instructed Ajax to pilot you 
out, but, as you know, that worthy has been otherwise 
engaged, and I hope is permanently detained.” 

“And who in the deuce played his difficult role?” 
demanded our curious friend, exploiting without ap- 
parent cause. 

The detective chuckled merrily, and affecting sur- 
prise, replied : “Why, Four-forty-four, of course, whom 
did you suppose ?” 

“Well, with just enough information all along to 
render occurrences difficult and perplexing, we have 
supposed pretty much everything, since entering this 
mathematical hole in the ground.” 

The detective chuckled again but offered no ex- 
planation. 

We had wound about through the subterranean den 
for some time, and backward in the direction we had 
come, and we were now between perpendicular stone 
walls, some ten feet apart and eight feet high. On these 
rested a Moorish arch. The detective carried a pecu- 
liarly constructed lantern, from one side of which 
flared a brilliant flame, and the other, by removing a 


i33 


Down in Arkansas 

slide, gave out the mellow greenish tints we had seen 
on the balcony. 

“Remarkable lantern,” said the speculator. 

“There are only two of these in existence.” We 
knew who carried the other one. At frequent intervals 
he flashed the headlight above, revealing the gorgeous 
semi-circle, glittering with pellucid crystal. At a point 
farther on, he stopped short, placed the wonderful 
lantern above his head, flashed a flood of light up a 
cone-shaped chimney, revealing a cupola from the 
center of the curvature, reaching to the mountain top. 
Then suddenly removed the light and requested us to 
look again. 

The great dome, lifting on high 
A single star disclosed 
Glinting in the vaulted sky, 

All cheerful and composed. 

“This,” said the detective, “is one of the several 
natural air shafts connected with this most wonderful 
corridor. At certain times, on clear days, the sun’s 
rays penetrate portions of it, emitting tints soft and 
pale, like the moon’s beams. Sounds produced herein 
are concentrated by reverberation, and may be heard at 
greater distances than under ordinary conditions. At 
our backs and nearer the court chamber, adjoining the 
room where my brother here was confined during the 
early part of your trial, is a deep egg-shaped lake, 
which prevented our entrance at that end. Near this 
pool of water are numerous, delicately formed stalac- 
tites, varying in circumference from an eighth to one 
inch, clinging to a fissure in the low roof. When 


i34 


Escape from the Cave 

lightly tapped with a lead-pencil or a stick, these give 
off sounds soft as the murmur of running water. Some 
of the frequenters here are able to play many simple 
airs upon them. ,, 

Here, also, was a great pile of wood and pine knots, 
which had been cast down from the top of a mountain, 
doubtless the moonshiners’ reserve supply. 

“Come, let us hurry along, gentlemen,” said the 
detective, putting off with a brisk walk, “the moon- 
shiners may hold another meeting here to-night, though 
I presume you will not care to attend.” 

“Nary a meet,” vowed the speculator, and the 
others admitted that they had had a plethora of that 
kind of entertainment. 

“Entire change of program to-night,” said the good 
detective, laughing. 

“No inducement, thanks.” 

“Reserved seats up front.” 

“Don’t like your attraction, though the variety is 
great, unexcelled on the American stage. Uppish and 
abhorrent is your prodigious star,” said Spec. 

“How delightfully frank. Still, you must admit 
that he is original.” 

“Yes, in sin and novel ideas on government .” 

His Heavies had the last word, and strung it out to 
frantic littleness, by which time he was alongside of, 
and on familiar terms with, our benefactor. 

“I say, Cazan,” said Spec, “do you mean there will 
be another caucus here to-night ?” 

“It’s near morning already.” 

“Near morning; ha, ha. It is three o’clock.” 
i35 


Down in Arkansas 

“Three o’clock, Mr. Cazan,” exclaimed the capital- 
ist. 

“All of it, I should say,” and the detective took out 
his watch, held it up to the lantern, saying, “Three 
thirty-three, by Jove.” 

“a. m. ?” 

“Ha, ha, p. m ” 

“Surely not afternoon, Mr. Cazan,” the travelers 
protested. At that instant we filed out of the dismal 
conduit into a deep, wooded hollow, and broad beam- 
ing daylight, where bending gracefully before a stiff, 
irregular wind, the slender young pines, rajahs of the 
forest, with their pretty green heads, bowed us wel- 
come to a world of beauty, of music, and of joy. 

’Twas being born, born an adult, 

Growing young instead of old; 

In body strong, with mind occult, 

’Mid pleasures to unfold ; 

’Neath a sky so wondrous fair, 

Its every star a sun, 

And in some fertile garden, 

Where day and night were one — 

Where every tree bore luscious fruit, 

With every leaf a flower, 

And every shrub was evergreen, 

Each shade a lover’s bower. 

Where feathered things were warbling birds, 

Their every quill a plume, 

And bumble-bees were humming-birds. 

Their every whirr a tone; 

Where even bugs were honey-bees, 

Their every hum a tune, 

And every breeze a welcome guest 
All laden with perfume. 

136 


Escape from the Cave 

With the return of our mental functions, and by the 
exercise of our powers of appreciation, our very souls 
were set free to feast upon the exquisite grandeur of 
the new environment. We glanced worshipfully up at 
the sun ; bent willing ears to the sweet and varied 
chirruping of the red bird, and gloried in the harsh 
mockery of the blue jay — and this was Arkansas, the 
outer side of the grand old State that I loved so well. 
Arkansas in the li£ht of God’s day. What had ap- 
peared to be a star, glinting over the great dome, was 
doubtless only a speck of azure sky. 

Gradually realizing that our feet rested on the 
earth’s crust, our thoughts reverted to our deliverer. 
W e faced about to greet him, but to our consternation, 
he had again eluded us, and alas, before we had ex- 
pressed our gratitude. 

“Call him,” was suggested. 

“Ah, there, Detective!” cried the first. 

No answer. 

“Ho, there, Cazan!” shrieked another. 

Still no reply. 

“I say there, Four Times Fourteen,” fairly yelled 
the speculator. This reached our benefactor, as it must 
have the whole neighborhood. 

“All right, gentlemen, I will be with you,” he 
shouted from the tunnel. 

“How fortunate we are to have names enough to go 
round,” said the Bostonian. 

“Lucky to have a voice that could go round,” the 
lawyer affirmed. 


137 


Down in Arkansas 

“That was the detective all right/’ half doubtfully. 

“Four Times Fourteen,” of course, confidently. 

“Lulu Cazan, for fancies, caramels or cream,” ban- 
teringly. 

“Heron Robert, else my name is not Kinmot 
Cruthers, blank No. Chestnut Street, Philadelphia,” 
vowed the attorney. 

All eyed the speaker appealingly, though he offered 
no explanation. 

On entering the cave with our captors, each of us, 
acting singly and for himself, had secreted about his 
person, watch, money, and other valuables, which 
proved to have been an unnecessary precaution. Our 
incarcerators were moonshiners, not robbers, and under 
no circumstances would they have appropriated our 
belongings. They wanted revenge, not money. 

Now, that we had leisure, awaiting the detective, a 
hurried inventory was made. Not so much as a key- 
ring was missing from among our personal effects. It 
might have been otherwise, had we for the same length 
of time mingled with the lawless, drunk or sober, who 
infest metropolitan communities. 

Time had dragged heavily enough to be sure, but, 
having not referred to our watches, we had had little 
idea that one whole night and the major portion of a 
blessed day passed over our heads while under the 
ground, and even now we were more or less skeptical 
respecting the detective’s statement. 

“He comes, he comes,” exclaimed the speculator. 
While absent, the brave detective had changed his 


138 


Escape from the Cave 

clothing, removed the mask from his face, and, com- 
ing forward to meet our eager advance, grasped our 
proffered hands, and smiling modestly, congratulated 
us. His courage, his benignity, and his genius had 
profoundly impressed us with his true worth, and with 
grateful hearts, if not with fitting speech, we thanked 
him; we could do no more. Even from so slight a 
mark of appreciation, the dear fellow begged a truce. 

Standing before us in the sunlight, with just the in- 
timation of a smile on his thoughtful face, he was 
mentally photographed, and though “a fair subject,” as 
the saying goes, I shall find it difficult to set forth his 
parts with indigent words. He was unlike the hero of 
romance, in that he was a true type of the average 
American adult, and did not impress one with the idea 
that he knew much that others did not know or could 
not learn. On better acquaintance, he proved to be 
eccentric, in that he had no peculiarities whatever. Not 
such a man, perhaps, as the “new woman” would rave 
over, but, if one should fall in love with him, and he 
found it out, his very kindness of heart would not per- 
mit him to let her become a slim, prim, disappointed 
spinster, notwithstanding she had occurred lately. 

By way of anatomical description, I will only say 
that he had a pair of muscular arms, a couple of sound 
legs, a vigorous body, a well-proportioned head and a 
bulged nose, on either side of which, at respectful dist- 
ance, was an eloquent brown eye. Truth, however, 
impels me to say that his ears and organs of vision 
were most too ample to harmonize with his combined 


139 


Down in Arkansas 

features, though corresponding perfectly with his heart 
and mind. His face was covered by a thick growth of 
beard, crisp and curling, and in coarseness and color 
resembled cocoanut wool ; a single perceptible crease, 
extending from his nose to the hair roots above, 
separated his high, broad forehead into hemispheres, 
textured with great thoughts and human sympathies. 


140 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE TRAVELERS ENTER A VILLAGE 

A Hill Billy Hostelry , the Elk Horn Tavern 

Asking leave, the detective returned to the mouth 
of the cave, and while he was absent, the travelers held 
a sort of spirited raillery, each censuring the other for 
specific conduct during the hours of imprisonment, 
kindling extravagant ecstasy and closing with a noisy 
frolic. Round and round they danced, singing songs 
and shouting with the fervor of youth. 

Stopping for breath, the speculator said: “I tell 
you, fellows, that fellow, Cazan, is a little disappoint- 
ing in the way of beauty/’ 

“On the whole, decidedly no,” protested the lawyer. 
“Not what you would call a handsome man, perhaps, 
but he doesn’t seem to mind it and it is certainly none 
of our business.” 

“Why, bless your life,” the first resumed, “chaps 
every whit as fine looking as he are sent to Arkansas’s 
legislature every fall.” 

“And all such make records for conscientiousness,” 
the Bostonian interposed. 


Down in Arkansas 

“And if insufficiently endowed with those qualities 
that appeal to aesthetic faculties, he is lasting in ‘nerve’ 
and manhood, which are to be preferred in a son-in- 
law,” affirmed the lawyer. 

“For a better description, send stamp for photo, 

and ” the speculator bantered, but his friends shut 

him off. 

“Three thirty-three,” the detective had declared, 
as we came from the cave. According to appearances, 
we must either believe what was false or disbelieve 
what was true, and the latter was our sentiment. 
Either the sun or the detective was wrong. We had 
confidence in both, but didn’t give the latter full bene- 
fit of such doubt as then existed, until the matter was 
referred to our own familiar, frank-faced timepieces, 
which, of course, could be relied upon in all climes 
and under all circumstances. These corresponded with 
the officer’s statement, therefore the sun had slipped a 
cog. 

“The sun may deceive us, but our watches never ” 
vowed His Heavies, opening his own vailed-faced 
“repeater,” “a family heirloom, with exceptional works, 
and zvas never out of my possession since my zmfe’s 
grandpa died” A pawn ticket fell out of the gold 
case; a cloud stole over the sun; Boston coughed a 
couple of times, and a mongrel smile sneaked out of 
Spec’s eyes and sat down on his upper lip. The lawyer 
picked up the scrap of paper and handing it to the 
speculator, turned his head aside and remarked : “A 
good man never goes back on his wife nor his watch ; 


142 


The Travelers Enter a Village 

either may be wrong sometimes, yet, when either meets 
him face to face, he looks forgivingly into their 
familiar and loved countenances, recalls how often 
they, dear things, have set him aright; takes their 
erring hands tenderly in his own, and even tells false- 
hoods that a cruel, prying world may never know their 
shortcomings.” 

It was then discovered that our trusted timepieces, 
for lack of winding, had stopped at a little after three 
o'clock the morning before, and apology was due 
the sun. 

“I say, fellows, it’s cruelty to animals, this idling 
away time here. Let us go find our poor starved 
team,” said the speculator, at last. His little speech 
struck a responsive chord in everyone’s breast, chilling 
the revelry. But it is sometimes one thing to desire 
to do a good deed, and quite another to find means to 
that end. The surrounding country was exceedingly 
rough, and the only way one could see a half-mile dis- 
tant was to get in the middle of a hollow and look 
straight up. If, however, the experiment be made sub- 
sequent to becoming “turned round,” straight up may 
be difficult to locate, other than by a person of excep- 
tional memory. 

The detective rejoined us, directed us to follow, and 
put off down the hollow. The speculator hesitated : 
“About our team, Cazan ?” he inquired, but our bene- 
factor was already too far away to hear him. 

“Our team has probably joined the great majority 
by this time,” suggested the lawyer. 


i43 


Down in Arkansas 


“What, dead?” exclaimed Spec. 

“Oh, no; gone over to Arkansas’s Democratic 
plurality,” was the attorney’s laconic reply. 

“The silent accretion of which accounts for the 
party’s beastly majority, eh?” queried the Bostonian. 

We were pushing down the hollow in a southerly 
direction, at least the detective said we were south- 
bound, though individually we had no idea as to the 
points of the compass, being “turned round,” and ap- 
parently going west. About three miles had been 
traversed, when the low-lying bottoms of the Caddo 
again hove in sight, and many beech trees grew along 
the bank of the stream, which was almost dry from 
continued drouth. “Old Spec” was now letting off 
steam like a ten-horse-powcr boiler, and every little 
while would exclaim, “Whoo-e-ey, ain’t we havin’ a 
’ell of a time?” Though a man of many accomplish- 
ments, he was not a sprinter, and could have been only 
a wall flower at a cakc-walk, unless in devouring the 
cake, and then would have been “the flower” of the 
occasion, and no artificial article either. 

The detective, now a couple of hundred feet in ad- 
vance, stopped suddenly before entering a field, and 
when we came up, he said : “My name is Brown, Bill 
Brown, bricklayer, at present making railroad cross 
ties. I must not be seen with you gentlemen just yet; 
in an hour, perhaps ; at the Elk ; village a mile ahead, 
cross lots ;” with this he strode away into the under- 
brush. 

“ ’Bout our team ?” the speculator loudly called 
after the retreating form. 


144 


The Travelers Enter a Village 

“Sure enough,” said a companion. “Call him.” 

“I say there, detec — Brown — Bill,” yelled the specu- 
lator; but “Bill Brown” was out of earshot, or else 
ignored the summons, for there came no reply. 

We moved on toward the little mountain town, 
“cross lots” — that is to say, athwart fields, enclosed by 
zigzag rail fences. Our course then lay over a track- 
less wilderness of weeds and vines, among the last, 
with its three-lobed leaves still green, was the passion 
flower, and having fruited, we gathered some of the 
ripe pods, which were quite palatable, more delicately 
flavored than vanilla, and we wondered that science had 
not distilled therefrom a commercial extract. The 
following spirited colloquy ensued, but was so confused 
that only collective credit can be assigned. 

“Brown, eh?” 

“That’s what he said.” 

“How many proper names has this brave fellow?” 

“Let’s see ; Bill Brown, that’s one ; Detective, that’s 
two; Cazan, that’s three; and Four Times Fourteen, 
that is only four.” 

“Ha-ha! Four times Fourteen is Fifty-six, in this 
case; you knew what was meant.” 

“All his well-earned titles have not yet been enu- 
merated,” declared the lawyer, entering the discussion. 

“How so?” 

“Four-forty-four, for instance.” 

“Oh, the big fellow, too?” 

“Of course ; weren’t you on ?” 

“Cert” — “sure” — “yep,” followed by tiresome, in- 
coherent sounds. 


H5 


Down in Arkansas 

“Maybe Heron Robert also?” interrogated one of 
the speakers, confronting the lawyer. 

“Look here,” said he, “you would flow on inces- 
santly, and never clear the thought of rubbish ; gossip, 
gabble, chatter, tattle ; geese, magpies ; you are posi- 
tively pitiless. It was I who first mentioned Heron 
Robert.” 

“Well, who in the saint’s name is Heron Robert?” 

“He is or was one of the Pinkertons, a distant rela- 
tive of mine.” 

“Bosh ! what’s that to do with our detective ? Are 
you his grandpa, or his mother’s husband’s child by 
his first wife ?” bantered the speculator. 

“I am none of these, you clown ; when first I heard 
the man Brown speak in natural voice, I was impressed, 
as stated in the cave, and until unmasked, I believed 
he might be young Robert.” 

“He may still be masquerading; had you thought 
of that?” 

“Of course ; I never questioned it.” 

“I mean to say,” said the other, “that perhaps we 
have yet to learn his true identity.” 

“Oh!” ejaculated the lawyer, as if struck with a 
new idea. 

We had left the speculator several paces behind 
when he called out : “Plait, thar, fellers ; throw up your 
last week’s breakfast, and surrender.” 

He came up panting like a mastiff in July, and be- 
tween breaths said : “You uns hurry along as — if — 
hun — gry.” 


146 


The Travelers Enter a Village 

The attorney turned around and took a mental pho- 
tograph of the once corpulent speculator’s shrunken 
sides, and wailed, “Oh, truly enough, Spec, death is 
nothing ; it’s the living that kills a fellow.” 

A blissful silence intervened, broken finally by the 
Bostonian, who in rather regretful tones made the 
avowal : “I am profoundly grateful for our deliver- 
ance; yet it would seem that in this strange, wild 
country we are absolutely certain of nothing ; not even 
sure that we shall procure food at the station ahead, 
the village.” 

“I say, Boss, you’re wrong there,” the speculator 
declared. “I’m at least certain of one thing respect- 
ing our prospects.” 

“Do tell us,” begged his companions, checking his 
advance. 

Halting with a jerk, Spec gathered up the folds of 
his stomach, lying over his belt, and with his powerful 
bass voice, sang: 

“I’m hollow, I’m hollow, 

And everybody knows. 

I’m hollow, I’m hollow, 

Clear down to my toes.” 

The quartet took up the refrain and repeated these 
simple lines, the melody of which resounded through 
the canons. 

THE MOONSHINER’S BRIDE 

’Neath the moon’s pallid tide 
There’s a drear little spot ; 

’Tis a steep mountain-side — 

The moonshiner’s plot, 


147 


Down in Arkansas 

And the moonshiner’s pride 
Is that lone little hut. 

With its cracks open wide 
And door tightly shut. 

But the moonshiner’s pride 
And the moonshiner’s purse.. 
Are all hollow inside, 

Like the moonshiner’s curse; 
And whate’er betide, 

There alone at the gate 
Is a heart-broken bride, 

The moonshiner’s mate. 

And loudly she cried 
There alone by her cot — 
For the poor, weeping bride 
A true bride was not; 

But wounded in pride, 

Was widowed instead. 

And though hollow inside 
Was heavy as lead. 

For, prone on his side. 

When the owl nightly hoots. 
Was the mate of the bride, 
Dead-drunk in his boots. 

And the moonshiner’s bride, 
For aught that one knows. 

Is hollow inside, 

Clear down to her toes. 


CHAPTER XV 


LANDLORD GREEN 

Supper at the Elk 

The “Moonshiner’s Bride” story, as told in song, 
was concluded just as we entered the drabbled out- 
skirts of the village, itself dingy, aged, and brown. By 
the wayside was a mineral spring, and we stopped to 
quench our thirst. This was a land devoted to health re- 
sorts, and some day will be a paradise on earth. These 
“medicinal fountains” are scattered all through this sec- 
tion of the State, and had Ponce de Leon come up the 
Caddo, he might have found the object of his search. 
To the stranger, the curative properties of these springs 
are highly recommended by the native, though he con- 
sumes little water himself. If these mountain folk 
would only acquire the water habit, they would be 
much happier and less lanky. Water is the most pow- 
erful solvent that may, in large quantities, be taken 
into the system. Therefore, in the way of removing 
the impure secretions of the body, it has no equal. 
Where health and happiness are the goal, water is in- 
dispensable. All water is good, though some kinds are 


149 


Down in Arkansas 

better than others, of course. Even a little water is 
beneficial, more water is better, and lots of water is 
none too much. It is also recommended for external 
application, along with soap and coarse towels. Only 
that it is abundant and cheap, it would, no doubt, be 
more extensively used. 1 have yet to see an emaciated, 
ailing person, who cared for, or that drank, much water, 
On the contrary, I have never known a healthy, hardy, 
good-natured man or woman, but that consumed much 
of it, and because he or she was fond of it. We should 
doff our hats to every fountain, and to an occasional 
pool at least, should remove our entire wardrobe. 

At the spring was the first bare-faced man we had 
seen, other than our own party, in about thirty hours, 
and though one of the “way-backs,” he was good to 
look upon. Above the fountain was a placard which 
bore this notice : “Don’t wash your face and hands in 
the spring;” an expression of respect for water un- 
looked for in that locality. Spec asked why the towns- 
people didn’t have the notice read : “Don’t wash your 
feet herein,” and the bare-faced man said, “It weren’t 
necessary.” 

“Of course not! The idea! In a civilized com- 
munity,” the Bostonian exclaimed, looking reproach- 
fully at our companion. 

“Of course,” muttered the lawyer, smiling blandly. 

After we had left the spot, Spec turned to the law- 
yer and demanded to know why he had so emphasized 
the Bostonian respecting the sign. 

“What did Boss say?” queried the lawyer. 


Landlord Green 

“Why, he said, of course ’twas unnecessary to 
change the wording.” 

“And what did I say?” 

“You ? Why, blame it all, you said of course.” 

“Yes, yes,” was the attorney’s reply. “That is what 
I said.” 

“Well, confound it, what did you mean?” Spec de- 
manded. 

“Oh, I meant what I said, of course, of course.” 

The Bostonian roared with laughter, but the specu- 
lator said he didn’t see any point, and he never did. 

At some distance up an irregular street was a 
gaudily painted frame house, in front of which, on top 
of a post, was an elk’s large head, with many pronged 
horns, and we readily recognized the structure as the 
Elk Horn Tavern. 

“That’s it, fellers,” said Spec, and scenting the 
meal from afar, he kept well in the lead, as we marched 
single file through the Mountain Mecca. When it is 
remembered that we had eaten nothing since the noon 
meal of the day before, it will not seem strange that 
the song had been repeated with inward emotions, 
other than pity for the erstwhile widow. “Hollow 
clean down to one’s toes,” is a homely line, surely, but 
it described our physical sensations more accurately 
than the beautiful phrases of Milton. We wouldn’t then 
have given a cup of hot coffee for a morocco-bound 
volume of “Paradise Lost,” nor a ham sandwich for a 
whole library. We had lost a paradise of our own, 
and were seeking a place to fill the void. 


Down in Arkansas 

“Howdy, strangers, come in, men,” said the propri- 
etor of the “Elk,” as we lined up at his door. 

“Can we get something to eat right away quick?” 
queried the speculator. 

“Well, I reckon. Ole woman, har’s some fellers 
what wants supper.” 

“How many’s thar ?” demanded a female voice from 
an adjoining room. 

“Four, an’ Bill’s five, if ’e comes.” 

“It’ll be ready in a half-hour, Green,” promised the 
“ole woman,” who was unquestionably our hostess. 

“Good! glorious!” Spec exclaimed; “It’s quantity 
and not quality we want.” 

“I don’t cook fer quality, no how,” the female was 
heard to mutter. 

We hurriedly performed our ablutions, and settled 
down for a chat with our genial host, whose name was 
Green, and notwithstanding he looked it out of both 
eyes, he had a heart in him big as a dime’s worth of 
salt. He bore the high-sounding title of adjutant, and 
doubtless had been an army man; probably served in 
the “Brooks-Baxter” muddle, though his titular ap- 
pellation may have been conferred for services ren- 
dered his locality in a bear hunt or fox chase, or for 
no reason at all, as is often the qase with these titles. 

Tall as several joints of stove-pipe, angular, and 
exceedingly small of girth, the Adjutant was a sorry 
advertisement for his particular line of business. How- 
ever, he was well up in some other characteristics of 
the hotel man, and could entertain his guests with 


I 5- 2 


Landlord Green 

jokes from the leading almanacs, quote poetry from 
the weekly papers, and recite history, as if its great 
events were matters of personal experience. He was 
“of Irish and Spanish origin,” and “took after the 
latter side of the house.” But so far as symmetry of 
parts was concerned, he was a lineal descendant of the 
family Hill Billy. Free to talk, as are politicians, he 
gave us much information, and, changing the subject 
as often as a dictionary, we gave him marked attention. 
His “grandpap,” while yet “a urchin,” opened a box 
of hard tack for General Washington ; his great-grand- 
father was a sailor, and as such shipped with John Paul 
Jones. We expected his own illustrious sire had been 
the main cause of the rebellion, or the overflow of the 
Mississippi, or something equally prodigious, but for 
some reason, he never got so near with his family his- 
tory as the last generation, and we suspected his “old 
man” was a moonshiner, and that his son, the Ad- 
jutant, was something of a liar. 

Our host’s mind ran to antiquity, and he knew more 
about the distant sixth century than the average mod- 
ern business man does about the folk-lore of the past 
six months. A progenitor of the Midriff family (his 
mother’s maiden name) was an attache of King Ar- 
thur’s court, and he became a 40-1 ith degree knight, 
though, comparatively speaking, this representative 
of a distinguished race didn’t look as if he were even 
late in the afternoon. 

The speculator could stand it no longer ; he fell into 
line — that is to say, he fell into lying also. His family 


153 


Down in Arkansas 

was a “proud one,” and could trace their lineage back 
to John the Baptist, “and,” said he, “we of this time, 
still cling to the faith of our fathers.” 

“Well, I be dinged,” exclaimed the Adjutant, “I’m 
one o’ them myself, an’ ther ole woman’s er nother,” 
and with the sangfroid of Buddhist priests, the immer- 
sionists shook hands, and in the language of smiles, 
bespoke eternal friendship. Our host went out to the 
kitchen, presumably to tell his wife they were enter- 
taining a Baptist elder. All this time others of the 
party sat by, and addressing his fellow capitalist, the 
lawyer said : “Just to think, how rapid has been man’s 
decline. If what ‘He’ and ‘It’ said be true, the theory 
of evolution is reversed, and the ape is only a degen- 
erate human being.” 

“Pshaw,” said Spec, “I wasn’t going to let that old 
braggart take a solitary flight.” 

“Well, did you play the hypocrite, with tongue and 
eyes? How proud of you must have been his Satanic 
majesty,” said the lawyer. 

“I’ll bet eight dollars we’re next to the pot in this 
house, anyway,” Spec declared. Just then the “ole 
woman” brought in an armful of wood, and we were 
probably mistaken as to the Adjutant’s mission to the 
kitchen. 

Resuming his seat before the fire and placing his 
hand familiarly on his Baptist brother’s knee, our host 
spoke thus of the town: “She war the powerfulest, 
boominist, businessist burg I ever seed ’long ’bout 
close of the wah. In them days trappers come here 


i54 


Landlord Green 

winters to play poker, and possum hides and coon skins 
war used fur small change, an’ I’ve seed more’n four 
hundred pelts staked on er single han’ o’ draw.” That 
these pelts did attain remarkable importance, there is 
ample proof. Other than replacing confederate money 
and supplying the native with head dress, it is said 
that coons’ skins were used in laying out the first roads, 
the uncertain lengths of which are due to the fact that 
the tail of the hide was thrown in for good measure. 

Because of its nearness to the new railroad, the vil- 
lage had been “hard hit,” and at the time, little busi- 
ness was being done here. Many houses had been tom 
down and carted over to the station, only twenty miles 
distant. However, there still remained a general mer- 
chandise store, drug store, blacksmith shop, and a 
dozen or so frame buildings, though none of these 
were so pretentious or gaudily painted as “The Elk.” 
With a showing of pride, the Adjutant referred to the 
area covered by the town’s corporate limits, which 
was a quarter of a mile up and down the stream and 
from “bluff to bluff” in the opposite direction. An 
ordinary clothesline, stretched at full length, would 
have spanned the space intervening between the hills, 
leaving its protruding ends subject to the jurisdiction 
of Polk County. Not a large plot of ground, thought 
we, but enough to accommodate the present popula- 
tion, including dogs, hogs, cows, and beasts of burden, 
which here, as in many a more pretentious Arkansas 
town, are permitted to run at large. 

By reason of specific allusions, during these talks, 


i55 


Down in Arkansas 

the tavern keeper had loaded our equivocal companion’s 
mind with a round of interrogations, one of which 
luckily brought to light certain information respecting 
an individual in whom we were greatly interested. 
The Adjutant had a habit, not uncommon in the re- 
gion, of referring to himself in the third person, sig- 
nifying that one is on familiar terms with the indi- 
vidual thus honored. At such times, however, he 
dropped his title, conclusive that he regarded “Green” 
in peace as superior to the Adjutant in conflict, or else 
forgot his war record altogether. The speculator, 
having discerned the fact, tickled our landlord’s vanity 
by frequent repetitions of his name in like manner. 

“Why, in name of ‘Old Hickory,’ did Green paint 
his house in the colors of Joseph’s Coat?” 

Green sighed. “Well, men, er young Yankee come 
along an’ ’plied for boardin’, an’ Green tole ’im he 
could be ercommodated, an’ pintin’ to er sign what 
said: ‘All boarders pay in advance without baggage.’ 
He ast ther price an’ Green tole him $1.25 er week; 
$4.50 fur er month. An’ in that durned Yankee, bar- 
gainin’ way o’ his’n, he said, ‘Hain’t ye mighty high?’ 
An’ it sorter made Green wolfish, an’ Green tole him 
to go to ther poor farm, whar he could stay fer nothin’, 
an’ he said, narry er poor farm; the best in ther country 
was too poor fer his rich blood. An’ ’nen he made er 
bluff at payin’ down, which is Green’s rule, an’ Green 
was er jokin’ all ther time, an’ said: ‘Young feller, yer 
face’s good fur a week’s board.’ An’ he looked sorter 
pleased like, an’ said, ‘ ’twas er compliment to his dear 


156 


Landlord Green 

ole mother to speak o’ his face in that er way. an’ he’d 
not furgit it, an’d pay ev’ry cent, if he could git er job 
layin’ brick, sawin’ wood or tiemakin’, or anything that 
war ’ones’.’ An’ ’nen he went out er foolin’ roun’ 
town, an’ when meals war ready, alius made er han’ 
at eatin’. Well, Green ast fur his pay onst, an’ the 
young bluffer said : ‘Have ye change fer er twenty ?’ 
‘Course not,’ said Green, sposin’ ther lad had plenty, an’ 
if so, Green didn’t want it, an’ if he didn’t, why Green 
needed ’er bad. So Green just tole Bill to git ’er 
changed when er drummer come to town, an’ felt per- 
fecly easy like. An’ it run on tell he owed nigh on to 
six dollars, an’ Green made up his min’ it war a durned 
Yankee trick o’ Bill’s, an’ put him to doin’ odd jobs an’ 
paintin’. Well, Green went over to ther railroad fur 
er few days and tole Bill to go to ther Doc’s, that’s 
ther drug store, an’ git paint an’ sich like an’ spread 
’er on ther tavern. An’ he spread ’er all right, as ye 
see ; an’ run Green in debt at the Doc’s erbout thirteen 
dollars. 

“An’ he knowed no moe ’bout paintin’ than ole 
Squire Hilsenbek does ’bout law, but he jus’ laffed 
when Green cussed ’im, an’ lowed he knowed as much 
erbout that as ther feller who first started ther fashion, 
he reckoned. It tickled Green powerful, but the ole 
woman was madder than er wet hen, and said the 
tavern looked like ther partic’lers uv er coon fight in 
polkberry time. 

“Well, men, Bill’s er boardin’ here yit, and pays 
promp’ now, as he’s got er good job makin’ ties, an’ 


i57 


Down in Arkansas 

he’s er good feller, an’s got more grit an’ er wile cat. 
Law bless Green’s tarnel life, thar cums Bill now.” 

We glanced out and saw Bill Brown with his hat 
on the back of his head, Hill Billy style, an’ he was 
whistling, “Hot Time in Old Town,” as if in contempt 
of the smoke. Bill Brown, bricklayer, painter and tie- 
hacker; at once the strangest, and in some respects, 
the most extraordinary character we had ever seen in 
the flesh. As laborer, he was so natural that we ad- 
mired him ; as detective, so wonderful we could not 
fathom him ; and as friend and hero, so steadfast and 
modest, we loved him ; and with all, a true gentleman. 
However, we displayed no surprise at seeing him now, 
nor did we appear to recognize this man of mystery, 
many names and callings. 

“Howdy, Bill,” exclaimed our host, cheerily. 

“Howdy, Green,” was the detective’s reply. 

“Bill, here’s some men lookin’ at ther country er 
wantin’ to buy it like. Men, this is Green’s friend Bill 
Brown, erbout who Green war tellin’ ye.” 

“Glad to know Green’s friend; how are you, Mr. 
Brown?” said Spec, rising. 

“Call ’im Bill, fellers ; he’s not uster bein’ mistered 
roun’ these parts,” declared our host, whose affability 
oddly contrasted with his hotel rate of $1.25 per week. 
W e had been guests where the reverse was true, charge 
$5.00 a day, affability of clerks, cool at first, kept on 
getting colder till it froze. 

“Green, supper’s waitin’,” shrieked our hostess from 
the kitchen, and had she said the house was on fire, 

158 


Landlord Green 

we could not have moved more quickly. Scrambling 
to the little dining-room, five famished companion 
pieces sat down on stools before as many plates. Green 
came in, pulled a bench out from under some cats, and 
from over a dog, sat down at the board and repeated 
grace in solemn and wordy second-hand remarks over 
the food. Before he had finished, the speculator un- 
ceremoniously helped his own plate to a piece of meat, 
big as a Waterbury clock, then observing his rude act, 
bowed his head reverently, but held on to the hunk, 
with a fork, in his right hand, and when his Baptist 
brother closed, pawed over a pone of corn bread and got 
down to business before his friends had fairly raised 
their heads. The devout Green implored salvation 
for our souls. The good Mrs. Green had given us a 
liberal supply of saleratus in her bread. The humid 
atmosphere, stealing through the walks cracks, had 
fringed plates, knives and forks, with ornamental gray 
mould; some hungry dogs of the “sooner” breed, sat 
round with wry faces, whining gluttonous contempt 
at our gluttonous example; a famished Thomas cat 
and his wife, sweetheart, or sister, stole forth from 
ambush, climbed high on the broad oaken mantel, and 
facing an old-fashioned weight clock, counted the sec- 
onds, impatiently waiting our departure; contending 
each for the other’s share, cats for the crumbs, and 
dogs for the bones, gluttonous all, and all to defeated 
hopes were doomed. 

This meal was supper of the preceding day, break- 
fast, dinner and supper of the present one, therefore 


i59 


Down in Arkansas 

four in one, and we did justice for each and all of 
them. We were there to eat, drink and eat some more. 

The coarse food, an abundant supply would hardly , 
have tempted one of the party ordinarily, but thirty 
hours of enforced fasting convinced the party that 
Tanner was a bigger fool than Thompson’s colt, or 
any other of the Thompsons. Even the capitalists, 
accustomed to luxurious viands, gorged themselves 
on bear bacon and mast-fed pork, stewed pumpkin and 
boiled cabbage, corn bread and black coffee. 

The speculator, a born gourmand, was doing 
“lighter service” with his big hands, plying between his 
mouth, an “open port of entry,” and his plate, “a base 
of supply.” 

“Rare delicacies,” said he, sweeping the last morsel 
of food from the table, and dumping it into the “hull” 
of his anatomy. Just then a dog at his elbow said 
“Boo-wooh,” which may have meant “Bad-man,” or 
something stronger, and turning sadly away, twisted 
its shaggy tail into an impudent interrogation. The 
Thomas cat ruffled his fur, gave his mustache a dis- 
dainful twist, and addressed the thin, precise pussy in 
Maltese. 

Lazily turning to the detective, grinning with the 
satisfaction he could no longer hide, our well-fed, fat 
friend said: “Look here, Brown, what do you know 
about our poor starved team ?” 

“Well, I know the mules are neither starved nor 
neglected ; in fact, they have fared better, and been in 
more wholesome company than yourselves.” 

160 


Landlord Green 

“Not better than when alone with ourselves, Mr. 
Brown ?” 

Bill Brown laughed at the construction put upon 
his sentence, then resumed : “The man in charge told 
me, however, that all attempts at currying the beasts 
had been met with violent resistance.” 

“Ah, our team all right; don’t blame the hostler,” 
exclaimed a companion. 

“And where is the outfit ?” bluntly demanded Spec. 

“In a barn out of the village some little distance. 
After nightfall, when we can go unobserved, I will 
show you.” 

“Good boy! The donkeys have no kick coming, 
and we, of course, have nothing but words of com- 
mendation. However, I’ll have to be shown, you 
know, being from Missouri, and of my State am duly 
proud.” 

“I wonder how Missouri feels about you, Spec, old 
boy?” laughed the lawyer. We arose and left the 
apartment, groaning from excessive gorging. The 
wretched cats and dogs, accustomed to clean up the 
table, heaved forth sighs, evincive of their disappoint- 
ment and wounded pride. 


CHAPTER XVI 

SOME NEW PEOPLE 

The High-Born Lady 

The speculator passed cigars with liberal hand and 
all save the Bostonian indulged in the easy vice. 

Darkness, creeping on the sinking sun, wrapped its 
sable winding sheet around the mountain’s jagged 
brow, shrouding the valley in gloom, as we strolled 
leisurely out of the village in a northwesterly direction. 
A horn blast rang out from the south mountain, and 
away to eastward rose muffled replies. The detective 
checked our advance, listening attentively. Still far- 
ther and farther away, similar sounds rumbled among 
the lonely mountain. 

“What does all this mean, Mr. Cazan?” the Bos- 
tonian inquired in suppressed tones. 

Two or three minutes afterward the detective said : 
“I will tell you, my friends, though I request you to 
never repeat what I say.” 

“Agreed,” said all. 

“You people have been talking to someone round 
here.” 


j 62 


Some New People 

“No, Mr. Cazan,” was the lawyer’s denial. 

“Then other strangers are about.” 

“How do you know this, Cazan ?” the speculator de- 
manded, but was ignored. 

“I beg pardon,” said the Bostonian, addressing the 
lawyer. “You have forgotten the native at the spring.” 

“Sure enough ; thank you. We did talk to a stranger 
down there this p. m.,” admitted the attorney. 

“I thought so, gentlemen,” remarked the detective, 
and putting his hand warningly on Spec’s shoulder, 
said : “The moonshiners have a code of signals, by 
which the presence of strangers is made known. With 
these trumpet blasts the whole neighborhood will be 
notified, and accurate descriptions given. We must be 
very cautious round the hotel. Every move you make 
will be reported. I will guarantee that even now spies 
are trying to locate you, and when we return to the 
hotel, you will find them awaiting you.” 

“Is it possible that Adjutant Green is associated 
with the organization?” questioned a companion. 

“No. Green is a good man at heart. Yet, like many 
another, he is intimidated by the moonshiners, who 
are ever ready to take vengeance by burning out an in- 
former, and at such times as this, they hesitate not to 
take life. If I should be discovered before my under- 
taking is accomplished, Bill Brown will never be heard 
of more, you may depend.” 

We moved forward. The wind had whipped round 
to the southeast, ever denoting rain in the Ozark region. 
An impulse of the misty air, laden with confused hollow 

163 


Down in Arkansas 

sounds, toyed with the autumn leaves along our path- 
way and then lengthened into a melancholy wail. A 
distant dog, with tolerably fair vocal qualities, barked 
a duet with a nearby, gruff- voiced mastiff; a couple 
of game roosters discussed hen-yard animosities across 
an intervening mountain ; a languorous villager played 
a dismal solo on a wind-broken flute; some lowing 
cattle mooed a subordinate chorus, placing accent on 
the penult, and we wished their exaggerated interpreta- 
tions were still lower. A number of impudent geese 
rushed frantically across the trail in front of us, and 
hissing vituperative imprecations, charged the castle 
of an old razor-back sow. She must have fancied that 
we were reinforcing the geese, and squealing her con- 
tempt for the lot of us, bounded from the fence corner, 
strewing her path with the feathers of a younger mem- 
ber of the flock. The speculator attempted to flank 
her, but, dodging between his legs, she violently threw 
him to the ground. He scrambled to his feet, brushed 
the dust from his corduroy suit and joined the others 
in their righteous, condemnatory epithets. A little 
farther on the poor fellow stumbled over a cow, lying in 
the road. This vexed him beyond control, and in 
measured blank verse he took a solemn oath that, 
sooner or later, he would return and stump the State, 
favoring a “herd” law. A mile or so out we entered a 
substantial looking farm house and were introduced to 
the occupants, at least several of them, a German farmer 
and wife, and a couple of all but grown sons. On enter- 
ing the homestead, we had observed a number of out- 


164 


Some New People 

buildings and other evidences of thrift, which moved 
the lawyer to say, as he grasped the mother’s hand : “If 
the world should ever become depopulated by reason of 
famine, the last race to perish, will be the German, the 
last of these, the industrious farmer, and last of all his 
frugal frau.” The little speech pleased the family, who 
gave us the true German welcome. 

Folding doors were pushed aside; we entered a 
commodious adjoining room, modernly furnished and 
tastefully arranged. Among the pictures on the walls, 
was a life-sized oil painting of Prince Von Bismarck, 
The Light of Germany, whose beneficence no time can 
mar. Before this mere shadow of the great statesman, 
the strangers paused and respectfully bowed their 
heads. On a center table was an old, well-worn Bible 
and a copy of Goethe’s Faust, a number of photographs, 
and an artistically fashioned chrysanthemum bouquet. 
Among the photos was that of a comely young woman, 
resembling the family in some slight degree, and an- 
other of a young man with an attractive rounded face, 
over which the lawyer lingered as if arrested by some 
hidden charm. That of the young lady was appro- 
priated by the speculator, who took it over to the win- 
dow, held it up to the light and, addressing the mother 
said : “Remarkably pretty face ; a relative, I presume?” 

“Ach, mine tachter, Catharina,” the mother spirit- 
edly replied. Soon after our entrance the detective 
begged leave to quit the apartment, and when the specu 
lator got round to it, he bluntly asked the old lady 
where our friend had gone. “Ach, mit die Fra 1 dein,’ 


165 


Down in Arkansas 

said the mother, blushing at Spec’s audacity, and in- 
dicating an adjoining room as the young couple’s try st- 
ing place. The door stood ajar and casually glancing 
in, I saw a slender woman before an open fireplace, 
inclining forward, resting her head against the mantel. 
At her side, stooping over her, was a tall man, one arm 
encircling her waist, and with his free hand he toyed 
with her fair tresses. That she repelled him not was 
plain, though the very posture of her figure suggested 
that his pleadings might not be entirely acceptable. He 
may have been only complimenting her loveliness, and 
she, impelled by modesty, was hiding her pretty face. 
Or more likely, he was begging the lover’s boon, a kiss. 
Still again ; ah, may he not that very moment have been 
entreating her to become his wife ? Though strong man 
is emboldened, and pure woman rendered coy by it, 
no true impulse of heaven-born love can long be con- 
cealed by either, try as we may. His enterprising be- 
havior and her retiring mental state argued one and the 
same thing — his conquest, her surrender ; unless paren- 
tal objection interposed she would doubtless soon be- 
come his wife. And their present attitude warranted 
just such a finale. When a young man gets his heart 
in place and his arm out of place ; when he bends affec- 
tionately over your daughter, whispers pretty nothings 
into her attentive ear, and kisses her hair, it is high 
noon of the day on which he should be taken into the 
family or else get out your gun and turn the dog loose. 

Here, as elsewhere, wonders seemed never to cease. 
Only to think of Bill Brown with a string of aliases as 


1 66 


Some New People 

long as that of a Chicago crook, now William Brown, 
Esq., we suppose in a new role', and he seemed to like 
it. We had believed his presence in the locality solely 
related to the public good, and at last discovered him 
seeking private benefits. But no matter, it has been 
thus with other public servants. He had been sent here 
to weed out moonshining, and doubtless his falling in 
love with the farmer’s daughter was a chance occur- 
rence, though it must be admitted, he had in either 
case displayed the sublimest intelligence, and if his 
methods prove as successful in the former, as in the 
latter, there will not be eighty cents’ worth of “white 
mule” on tap during the coming holidays. Yes, if ap- 
pearance is a foundation on which a structure of belief 
may be erected, “Bill” had come to a sure thing, 
and we certainly hoped the true, manly fellow might 
win out. 

All members of the family bowed themselves out, 
joining the young couple at the fireside. I approached 
the Bostonian, who sat by the window, rolling a flower 
in his white hands, silent and moody. The lawyer, 
whom we had left bending over the young man’s pic- 
ture, joined us, as did the speculator a minute later, and 
after all had promised secrecy, I related what had oc- 
curred between the detective and the young lady. 

The gentlemen were visibly affected, the speculator 
excited even, and declared he would see the woman in 
the case, whom he believed to be the “Goddess of Dark- 
ness,” seen flitting about the cave. Our legal friend 
said he also had made an important discovery, and 


167 


Down in Arkansas 

holding up the photo, exclaimed : “This, my friends, is 
Heron Robert, as he once was.” 

“And this,” interposed the speculator, holding out 
the other, “is to be Mrs. Heron Robert, as she now 
ought to be.” 

Frowning contempt the lawyer resumed : “By link- 
ing together certain facts, I have arrived at a fair solu- 
tion of the mysteries besetting us. On coming into this 
locality, the detective must have represented himself to 
be a laborer, and the better to disguise his true identity, 
painted the tavern, did odd jobs and made cross-ties 
under the assumed name of Bill Brown, and gradually 
working into high favor with the lawless class, was 
enabled to join the moonshiners’ organization; to learn 
its secrets and to locate the hidden stills, scattered 
through the dark recesses of the Fouche Mountains. 
The men we see about this home, dressed as farm 
hands, are doubtless his confederates, and when details 
shall have been arranged, the signal will be given, 
causing all to be arrested, who have been connected 
with this illicit traffic. Evidently this household is in 
the secret, aiding and abetting in what will likely prove 
the largest roundup of moonshiners ever witnessed in 
the Southwest. The young lady, of course, is his 
affianced, and her presence in the cave, prior to and 
during the fierce struggle, was for no other purpose 
than the warning of her lover of some unusual occur- 
rence, on the outside, in which Ajax was prominent. 
Being thus forewarned, and knowing we had no oc- 
casion to go for the brace of revolvers, the detective sent 


168 


Some New People 

his sweetheart after them, and secreting himself in the 
dark passage, awaited the coming of him who was to 
have been our accuser at the trial. And, it would seem 
that, before she returned from the pillar, the giant ap- 
peared on the scene of conflict, and, as we know, was 
sadly worsted without the use of deadly weapons. 

The shrieks heard at the time, needless to say, were 
those of this faithful little woman, who doubtless 
fancied that a majority of all she loved was being 
punctured with bullet holes. That she rushed on the 
scene, resolved to avenge her fiance, was proved by 
Ajax’s reference to “that she,” and our unexpected ap- 
proach probably caused her to hide or retire from the 
cave. And, of course it was she, the High-Born Lady, 
who, before finding the object of her search, prayed 
upon the balcony, and God doubtless answered that 
prayer. Only reflect what might have been the results 
had Ajax reached the moonshiners, and you will realize 
how great is our obligation to this mountain beauty. 

Had we even escaped on the ground of innocence, it is 
probable that Lulu Cazan, the detective, would now be 
only a memory. God be praised.” ♦ 

“It is all very remarkable, though convincingly 
clear ; yea, may Heaven reward our noble young 
friends,” said the Bostonian. 

In the meantime things warmed up in the adjoining 
room. The young couple’s late cave experience had 
brought matters to a focus. If not before, Bill Brown 
now had ample proof of the young woman’s devotion, 
and true man that he was, what is more natural than he 


169 


Down in Arkansas 

should ask her hand in marriage. For only the villain 
will win a pure woman’s heart and cast her love away. 
However, as “Bill Brown,” our benefactor did not have 
everything coming his way ; he had been ruthlessly re- 
jected by the old man, at least we heard a few remarks 
in bruised English, which revealed the worthy farmer’s 
disapproval, as matters now stood. 

“Ven dot stain on der character vas made out dese 
young man have die fraulein, und not before ; I know 
dot he vos not some guilty, but idt make me no deffer- 
ence; der beoples dink dot he vas ein of der moon- 
shiners und I give my consendt nodt until everybody 
know dot he vas a shentleman.” 

His command of English was poor, but his com- 
mand of the situation was good, and we presumed 
“Bill” would have to wait. And he should wait, for 
what right has a man, with a stain upon his character, 
whether rightfully or wrongfully, to claim the hand of 
an innocent woman. The old German, a noble by birth, 
knew his duty, and no man could do what he was doing 
in this country without being a man of stamina, there- 
fore words were idle and Bill Brown knew it. If only 
his intended father-in-law’s example were imitated by 
parents generally, there would be fewer divorces and 
fewer scoundrels going about the country deceiving 
helpless women. 

We sympathized with Bill Brown, of course, but if 
the case were fairly stated, believed the paternal ob- 
jection should be sustained, notwithstanding the odium 
of a supposed offense had in this instance fallen on an 


170 


Some New People 

innocent man. So thorough the detective’s disguise 
and so perfect his acting, that he was regarded as a 
leader of the offenders by the larger and better element 
of the locality. Therefore, but one honorable way re- 
mained by which he could put himself before the public 
in his true light. Then and then only could he hope 
to openly espouse his fair lady. The die was cast ; he 
must break up the moonshiners’ organization, by caus- 
ing the wholesale arrest of its members, or forsake his 
affianced and leave behind an unsavory name. He was 
not the man to lower the high moral standard of Ameri- 
can manhood. How well he succeeded, we shall see. 

The family filed into our apartment, followed by the 
would-be son-in-law. Miss Catharina was introduced 
and proved to be a modest, intelligent little woman. Her 
features were more like the average American woman 
of gentle birth than of the doll-baby type; her form 
was that of a healthy girl of eighteen ; her innocent blue 
eyes sparkled with intelligence; her cheeks wore the 
rosy bloom of health, and an abundance of auburn hair 
crowned a face that was tinted with the shades of out- 
door exercise, and her pretty hands, though shapely, 
showed that they had helped with the household duties. 
Briefly, she was a girl of the period ; a pure, innocent, 
noble little creature, and suggested the strength to en- 
dure the cares as well as the joys of life. A woman to 
make a good wife and mother, and our friend was to 
be congratulated. 

The speculator hastened to tell her how greatly im 
pressed he had been with her picture, and she appeared 
171 


Down in Arkansas 

to be depressed by his off-hand familiarity. “I feel,” 
said he, “that our journeying has not been in vain and 
my speedy return to your State is a matter for your 
indulgent consideration, now that I have been permitted 
for the second or third time to look upon your ver} 
charming self.” It would seem one may become so 
thoroughly imbued with inquisitiveness as to pay a com- 
pliment for the sake of asking a question, and how 
adroitly the rascally speculator did these things. The 
young lady blushed crimson, not so much because of his 
good-natured flattery but on account of the reference 
to the scene in the cave, which she supposed was sacred 
between herself and her lover. The lawyer perceiving 
her embarrassment, intervened, and made her reply un- 
necessary. She readily recognized his manly sympathy 
and smiled her thanks, and, for a smile as was hers to 
confer, even younger men would go out of their way. 

Civilities of gradual departure were being pro- 
nounced ; the speculator by his usual method had 
learned that Miss Catharina was graduated from 
Ogontz, Philadelphia, and spoke several languages, and 
now offering her his hand in adieu, asked with a hearty 
Kaw Valley accent: “Parlavoo, Fransay, Madamme- 
selle ?” 

“Oui, oui, Monsieur,” then quickly changing her 
stress of voice she concluded, “but you don’t/'* “Olive 
oil,” said Spec, or something sounding like it, as 
though nothing had occurred. The German farmer’s 
sons went with us to the barn, which also was a sub- 
stantial structure, made of native stone, and when on 


172 


Some New People 

the inside, with closed doors, Bill Brown turned the full 
flood of his lantern on a roomy stall, and addressing the 
speculator, said : “I promised to show you.” 

Comfortably bedded and stretched at full length 
on clean straw were our long-lost mules. Later we 
were shown the wagon and “traps,” among which was 
the demijohn, though it no longer bore the Democratic 
seal ; it was empty. 

Our joy was now complete. We turned involun- 
tarily to our benefactor and gave him our heartfelt 
blessing in return for his faithful services and unselfish 
friendship. The brave man, friend and hero, modest 
as pure and innocent womanhood, begged that we say 
no more and blushingly turned aside. 


m 


CHAPTER XVII 


RETURN TO THE VILLAGE 

The Detective's Explanation 

The night was black, the hour late, and nature, as 
if moved to pity, at last shed drizzling tears on the 
drouth-stricken locality. We bade the young Germans 
good-night, and made for the village, now peaceful and 
obscured, only for an occasional lamplight, glimmer- 
ing from uncurtained windows, and these, like human 
souls, were going out one by one. Our conversation 
turned upon the moonshiner’s cave and the recent 
strange events. The detective explained the rude 
drama that beset our trail from the time we called at 
the Hill Billy’s lowly cabin until the present moment. 

During that long and trying interval some things 
occurred which apparently bordered on the miraculous, 
and even when explained continued to excite wonder. 

Not desiring to assail the imagination with fathom- 
less secrets, I have, in so far as was possible, refused 
to surround my actors with mystery, and do not wish 
to assume for my heroes attributes beyond human con- 
ception. When artlessly done, these claims may 


174 


Return to the Village 

arouse curiosity, but otherwise would detract from a 
lingering tale. Paragraph after paragraph, page after 
page, and chapter after chapter may be cautiously 
guarded, lest the skull-cap of secrecy be revealed; a 
book even may be ruthlessly closed in the reader’s 
face with that awful and unexplainable something 
still entangled in the meshes of blear-eyed mystery. 
Fearing the reader might long for the suicide of an 
irrational hero, and desire that obscure characters con- 
tract jaundice, nothing has been claimed for these 
actors beyond common sense, and nothing left remote 
from the understanding that could be explained by 
any logical supposition. 

A preceding paragraph refers to the following 
account, which is verbatim, and makes clear many 
notable happenings, that heretofore perplexed the 
travelers : 

“Ajax, one of the more daring moonshiners, whose 
relation to the M. M. O. of U. S. is similar to that I 
bear the revenue department, had penetrated our dis- 
guise, to an extent, and knowing he would defeat my 
plans if permitted to attend the meeting at the cave, 
I went to his cabin, with a couple of my men, whom 
you saw at the farmhouse, to place him under sur- 
veillance. We arrived only a brief time before your 
party, and seeing no evidence of his presence, hid in 
the brush awaiting developments. Your efforts to 
arouse some one were in line with our wishes, though 
we dared not proceed in that way. After hearing all 
that passed between you and him, we surmised he 


i75 


Down in Arkansas 


would follow you, that he might learn from your con- 
versation the true reason of your presence, with a view 
of laying the facts before the organization. I in- 
structed my men to shadow him, and went forward to 
intercept and explain matters to you, and was on the 
elevation, some twenty feet from the spring, when you 
stopped to refresh yourselves. Before I could speak 
with you, I saw the giant crouching in the twilight of 
the young pines, only a few yards from your wagon. 
With the gait of a bridled weasel, he came nearer still, 
and climbing up a large tree overlooking the field, re- 
mained in hiding, carefully taking in your conversation, 
as did I also. When you moved on, I slipped down 
and crawled through the underbrush to a large oak by 
the trail. Just then I heard a rustle in the dry leaves 
which marked his course, and peeking from cover, saw 
his shadow slowly approaching. At the right moment 
I sprang out and thrust a gun in his face, but he was 
vehemently protesting arrest, when my men rushed 
up and collared him, probably averting a tragedy. He 
swore an awful vengeance against Uncle Sam’s hire- 
lings, and then sullenly surrendered. I placed a pair 
of steel bracelets on his wrists, appropriated his hat, 
and cave number, Four Forty-four, and dispatched him 
to the farmhouse for safe keeping. Thus equipped, 
I hurried forward to overtake your party. However, 
you followed the axe blazes down the mountain, which 
is the longer route, and finding myself well in your 
advance, awaited your approach, concealed in the 
thicket on the left of the road, where you were met 


176 


Return to the Village 

and arrested. Knowing the moonshiners’ desperate 
frame of mind, and that many were drinking heavily, 
I accompanied you to the cave. 

“As stated at the time, the one alarming feature of 
your trial was the adjournment. On leaving you ab- 
ruptly, I went round to the spring, and heard those 
still remaining there, now deep in their cups, threat- 
ening what would be done when Four Forty-four 
should appear as your accuser.” 

“How did they know this, Cazan?” Spec inter- 
rupted. 

“Well, you remember that immediately after you 
drove away from his cabin, you heard alternate coarse 
and shrill horn blasts ?” 

“Certainly, though we thought he was calling those 
derned hounds.” 

“On the contrary, he was trumpeting your ap- 
proach, saying plainly as could be : ‘Suspicious 
strangers cornin’ down the mountain,’ and signed his 
name to the information with one of those peculiar 
notes of the horn ; therefore causing the party to meet 
you on the Caddo. Believing him permanently de- 
tained, I donned his well-known clothing, displayed 
his membership badge, and otherwise impersonated 
him, trusting to the moonshiners’ inebriated condition 
to pull myself through.” 

The speculator’s abnormal inquisitiveness, rushing 
wildly in advance of the story, crowded in on the 
period with: “I say, Bill, tell us about Four Times 
Fourteen; who was he?” 


Down in Arkansas 

The detective replied in the same unassuming man- 
ner that characterized his narration: “Well, Four 
Times Fourteen, as you ought to know, was a man 
about my size and shape.” 

“On that occasion, of course, but who was he be- 
fore you assumed his part?” Spec insisted. 

“Ha-ha-ha, I see,” said the detective, with catches 
of his breath. “You are mixed. Professional secret.” 

“Oh, well, how did you discover in the impene- 
trable darkness of the chamber that one of us was 
a K. P. ?” 

“Fraternal secret.” 

“Ah, I perceive. But you are a detective.” 

“On special detail.” 

“How’s that, Cazan?” 

“Came here to break up the moonshiners’ organiza- 
tion.” 

“Why in the blazes don’t you do it, then?” 

This blunt question caused the detective to laugh 
heartily, and he explained that since undertaking the 
work, he had experienced little difficulty in locating 
the offenders, scattered throughout the mountains in 
out of the way places and sedulously guarded. Al- 
though claiming public recognition, the moonshiners’ 
organization is a close secret, and systematic union of 
smugglers, and one must long be a member before 
taken into full fellowship, or trusted with particular 
information. “In fact,” said the speaker, “even prior 
to becoming eligible to membership in the detestable 
society, one is required to act the part of its agent, 

>78 


Return to the Village 

and contribute to its revenue by selling a specified num- 
ber of gallons of illicit liquor, thereby incriminating 
one’s self.” 

We had now reached the village, and discussion 
along these lines was abandoned for the time being. 
The genial proprietor of “The Elk” welcomed us, and 
when in our apartment, I repeated the strange visitation 
had in the cave. The detective seemed much impressed, 
admitting his inability to explain what he termed 
“acts of the soul in sleep.” 

“Your version,” said he, “adds one more to the 
long lists of tales that are told of the wonderful cavern. 
During the War of the Rebellion, the Hardy Quantrell, 
with his desperate band of marauders, frequently used 
the place as a rendezvous, when hard pressed by the 
Union forces. On one occasion, Col. Thomas Moon- 
light, quartered at Fort Smith, followed the ‘Bush- 
whackers’ into the Fousche Mountains, finally sur- 
rounding them in the cave. On the elevation, opposite 
the main entrance, he planted a number of small-bore 
cannon, and plugged away at the hole in what proved 
to be an abortive attempt to dislodge the occupants. 
There are so many rooms and avenues of escape that 
he could not know what effect the cannonading had 
on the subterranean fortification. After several hours 
of this sort of sport, the brave Colonel remarked that 
it was his business to chase the fox into his hole, 
though no part of his duty to crawl in after him. 

“Whether true or false, knowing the quarters as I 
do, I am of the opinion that a company of the best- 


179 


Down in Arkansas 

equipped soldiers could neither dislodge nor confine 
the moonshiners. One of the great conduits leads to 
an entrance seven miles away. I have spent many 
days exploring the grotto, which has long been used as 
a council chamber by these enemies of society, and 
formerly by thieves and counterfeiters, as a hiding- 
place, and am convinced that its wonders are not even 
dreamed of by those most familiar with it.” 

The speculator, again interrupting, asked for an 
explanation of the peculiar, name-like sounds, heard 
while incarcerated therein, and the narrator replied : 
“I have heard those soft whisperings which resemble 
Oo-loo, usually accompanied by a whisk. The super- 
stitious moonshiners, from whom doubtless you 
learned the facts, likened these sounds to Lulu Cazan, 
the supposed name of a detective, said to have given 
the lawless class more or less trouble for the past eight 
months. I shall have to beg of you to cease address- 
ing me with so formidable a name.” 

“Is your name not Cazan, then ?” queried the specu- 
lator. 

“No, indeed ; my name is ” 

“Brown, of course,” our fat companion interposed ; 
“but didn’t you pronounce Lulu-cazzhan-eh, in a low 
hollow voice, when you passed behind the pillar?” 

“No, indeed.” 

We looked inquiringly at each other. Could we 
have been deceived? Did we not hear indistinctly, 
though certainly, the hollow voice — the murmurings 
at the pillar ? 


Return to the Village 

The capitalists repeated their “deuced strange/’ 
“devilish queer” expressions for the benefit of the de- 
tective, and then he resumed : “I cannot say positively 
what produces these half-articulated noises, but sus- 
pect the vampire bats. I have minutely examined 
some of these, found clinging to the stone walls in great 
silent clusters. In some respects they are unlike any- 
thing mentioned by naturalists. If you can conceive 
of a mammal, half bird and half beast, a cross between 
a whippoorwill and a vampire, you will have a pretty 
good idea of these remarkable quadrupeds, which have 
something of both bird and beast in their anatomy. 

“At any rate they are vociferous, and when flying, 
give off sounds not unlike those described, but very 
low, hollow and indistinct. The more remarkable 
feature of their performance is, perhaps, the sound 
produced by raking of their bills on the walls. On 
the whole, I confess that only the wildest flight of 
fancy enables the ear to recognize these blended noises 
as resembling the detective’s conjectured name.” 

“Then it was not your voice, after all ?” queried the 
speculator. 

“Again, no.” 

“Say, Cazan, Brown, Bill, Mr. What’s Your Name, 
tell us about the goddess, seen rummaging through the 
cavern ; who was she ?” 

The detective flushed, hesitated, and for the first 
time showed the sharp edge of his glance to the spec- 
ulator. 

“A domestic secret, possibly,” the lawyer good- 
naturedly interposed. 

181 


Down in Arkansas 

“Hardly. However, since the question reveals 
what I had hoped was only known by her and me, I 
will relate the circumstance. She whom you name, 
while passing through the wood on horseback, en route 
home from the burial grounds, witnessed a hand-to- 
hand-struggle between Ajax and his two guards. The 
giant, unobserved, had rent his manacles and fearlessly 
assailed his attendants, who, loth to shoot him, con- 
tended for the mastery with bare knuckles. The fight 
was an unequal one; my men were overpowered, dis- 
armed and lashed to a tree. In common with her 
family, the young lady knew my relation to the moon- 
shiners’ organization, and divining the giant’s purpose, 
rode with all her might to warn me at the cave. Being 
familiar with its several entrances, she went by the 
least frequented way, the upper gallery, to a balcony 
overlooking the court chamber, and finding it deserted, 
left a parcel, a letter, etc., intended to warn me of the 
impending danger. Later we met at the point of 
rocks in the passage, and being pressed for time, I 
requested her to go for the guns, and I went forward 
to guard the entrance. Before she could possibly have 
returned, I heard Ajax approaching; the sequel is too 
well known for reiteration.” 

“Wonderful!” exclaimed the Bostonian. “Indeed, 
sir, you owe your life to the noble girl.” 

“And is willing, no doubt, to liquidate,” said the 
lawyer, which caused all to laugh, other than the pen- 
sive speculator, who declared he was “dadgasted” and 
“up a stump.” 


182 


Return to the Village 

“And you are not L. L. Cazan, after all?” he 
mused. 

“Yes and no,” said our deliverer, smiling at the 
contradiction. “I am he whom the moonshiners chris- 
tened Lulu Cazan, the detective; he whom the Hill 
Billies know as Bill Brown, the tie-hacker; he whom 
you have known as Four Times Fourteen, and lastly, 
he whom a fond mother knew as Heron.” 

“Ye gods! and you are Heron Robert, the Pink- 
erton?” exclaimed the lawyer, crossing the room and 
presenting his hand. 

“The same,” was the detective’s reply. 

“Well, Heron, my boy, although your voice when 
used naturally reminded me of the lad you were, I 
should never have recognized you in this wild 
country,” vowed the attorney ; then, dropping his head 
and turning aside, concluded reflectively: “Oh, time, 
that alone is oblivious to epochs ; time that so shifts 
the sands as to change the beach; time that deals 
harshly with flesh and blood, even so soon has placed 
its brand upon the once handsome brow of young Rob- 
ert. Yes, Heron, you are greatly changed; this hard 
life is too much for you. Already, you are looking 
old ; about twenty-eight, I believe ?” 

“Yes, twenty-eight next birthday, my kinsman, but 
I hope Father Time has not made such ravages as you 
believe.” With this, Mr. Robert removed his wig and 
colored eyeglasses, which he cast on the bed beside his 
relative, who exclaimed : 


183 


Down in Arkansas 

“Ah, young rascal, now I know that face ; it is like 
the photo.” 

Hearty congratulations followed, and we retired 
for the night. Without, an awful thunder and rain- 
storm prevailed. 


184 


CHAPTER XVIII 


BREAKFAST WITH MR. ROBERT 

Good-by to “ The Elk ” 

We had retired to feather beds which, apparently, 
were in the Green family away back yonder when 
Gabriel Lajeunesse followed the Indian trails into the 
Ozarks. At least, they hadn’t the smell of hyacinths 
and roses, and were no longer soft as cygnet, but with 
an occasional change of ticking, promised to last until 
the angel Gabriel shall startle sinners with his powerful 
trumpet. 

Our sleep had been as peaceful as if lodged in a 
metropolitan hotel, but at what seemed an unreasona- 
ble hour, some one pounded lustily on our chamber 
door, momentarily spreading alarm among the drowsy 
travelers. The lawyer was first awakened, and spring- 
ing out of bed, demanded to know by whom we were 
being arrested and if charged with the only offense 
that was punishable in that locality ? The rapping and 
impassioned voice of the intruder soon forced all 
others to a sitting position, and a mild form of panic 
was depicted on their faces. At the moment Adjutant 

185 


Down in Arkansas 

Richard Green, otherwise plain Dick Green, propri- 
etor of “The Elk,” sang out on the morning air, in a 
voice that evinced recent familiarity with the demijohn, 
thus: “Get out o’ thar, men, yer wanted,” and we 
scented his breath through the key-hole in the door. 

“Wanted, eh?” 

“Well, I reckon.” 

We looked each other in the eye, as if repeating 
this inquiry. 

“Are we really at home to such an unreasonable 
caller?” Hurried glances about the room’s blank 
walls revealed no means of egress. 

“Let’s fight ’em, damn ’em,” whispered the specu- 
lator, who, though singular in proportions, was plural 
in a scrap. We thought of the detective ; needed him, 
but he had escaped. “Have the moonshiners again 
trumped up an excuse for our detention?” Another 
rap at the door and a vigorous kick. “Yes, landlord, 
we are awake ; what do you require ?” said Spec. 

“Want yer to git out er thar. Yer needed bad.” 

“By whom?” demanded a shaky voice. 

“Why, by the ole woman, uv course; who’d yer 
reckon? She’s got breakfast ready er ’bout.” 

“Oh !” rendered in surprised chorus. We referred 
to our watches; it was four o’clock, and then looked 
each other over with little admiration in our glances. 
Each endeavored to place the blame on the other, but 
broke the dead-lock by laying the blame where it be- 
longed. The lawyer’s defense was that he had been 
dreaming of “being kidnapped by Jacobins.” The 


1 86 


Breakfast With Mr. Robert 

danger passed, we reclined on our pillows and lapsed 
into a doze, only to be once more disturbed, this time 
by the speculator, who, with heavy tread, was crossing 
and recrossing the room. Peeping out from under 
white spreads, we demanded an explanation. 

“Oh, ah !” Spec exclaimed, “exercising before 
breakfast. ,, 

“So that you may get your money’s worth of 
stewed pumpkin, eh?” the lawyer snarled, and raising 
up, hit the disturber over the head with one of Green’s 
pillows, which burst open, filling the room with pin- 
feathers. Spec seized the offender by the heels, 
dragged him from his lair, stood him on his feet, and 
pulling the pillow-case down over his head, remarked : 
“There now, don’t go around here bare-faced, and 
you’ll soon be eligible to membership in the M. M. O. 
of U. S.” The Bostonian lay closely over against the 
wall, as if expecting a dose of stale feathers himself, 
and when his romping friends desisted, yawned out, 
“Ah, truly, men are only boys grown tall.” We turned 
out, and prepared for the morning’s repast. 

One of the seemingly unnecessary practices of the 
whole family Hill Billy is early rising. Four o’clock 
is considered the proper hour to be up in the morning, 
no matter at what time one may have retired, nor what 
season prevails. I have never discovered a reason for 
this, unless, perhaps, like moonshining, the custom has 
been handed down from one generation to another and 
is now in their blood. Certainly no other people per- 
form less labor, nor take less pleasure in what is done 


187 


Down in Arkansas 

through sheer necessity. The week is divided up into 
“rainy days,” “meetin’ days,” and Sundays, two each, 
leaving one work day, and on this, the least prized of 
the entire seven, he usually goes “huntin’.” 

Like the Spaniard, in one respect, the Hill Billy 
never does to-day what can be done to-morrow, or 
better still, the days after to-morrow, but he clings to 
habits with religious fanaticism. With noble resolu- 
tions for the morrow, he goes early to bed, and in this 
particular is an example even, for the fowls of the 
roost; and, after a night of undisturbed repose, rises 
at four, all impatient for the “tarnal poky sun” to ap- 
pear, but, the breakfast over, he is “taken with pain” 
in the joints of his resolutions, and instead of seeking 
the fields of labor, gets down his rifle and goes “er 
squirrelin’.” It is not meant that these mountain peo- 
ple are lazy, neither are these statements made in a 
condemnatory spirit. The simple truth is, they have 
not been brought up to drudgery. Their necessities 
have not compelled them to buckle down to hard labor. 
In the sense of activity, man is largely what his sur- 
roundings have required him to be. The country and 
climate conduce to just such conditions as are named 
in the foregoing paragraphs. For example, take the 
assiduous Vermont Yankee, who comes down here to 
teach the Hill Billy a lesson in thrift. At first, one 
would have believed wonders were to be performed, 
and doubtless, he, himself, expected to tear the bone 
out of Mother Earth and set up a Kingdom of Industry, 
but after a time, he, too, learns that great effort is not 


188 


Breakfast With Mr. Robert 

essential, and seems pleased with the discovery. On his 
own rocky hillsides, in his own rigorous climate and 
on his own sterile soil, when compelled to choose be- 
tween labor and starvation, he made, and had he re- 
mained there, would have maintained, a reputation for 
industry and frugality, but when he realizes the pro- 
ductiveness of Arkansas soil, when he breathes the 
pure ozone of her mountains and learns that a genial 
sun, shining all the year round, tempers the climate 
to these diminutive lords of unruffled inactivity, he 
buckles on his Winchester, secures a pack of “yaller 
hounds,” and joins in the fox chase. Nevertheless, 
should one of these northern sons continue to toil, he 
would soon acquire riches down here, and nothing else 
he could do would make him so conspicuous and un- 
popular with the Hill Billy, who has no extravagant 
desires, and requires no lordly estate to support himself. 
However, his Hillship, notwithstanding his lack of 
education and limited resources, is the greatest natural 
financier the backwoods ever brought to the surface, 
in that he lives well the year round without labor or 
income. Therefore, this is an ideal region for a man 
of large family and a small pension — one who prefers 
fox hunting to manual labor, or who would rather 
argue politics than read a newspaper. 

At the breakfast table we were joined by Mr. Rob- 
ert, now apparently Bill Brown, the laborer. It did 
not seem possible that only a wig and colored eye- 
glasses could make such a change in one’s features, 
though so far as we knew, the detective employed no 

189 


Down in Arkansas 

other disguises. His presence and personal magnet- 
ism had a salutary effect on the party, and taking ad- 
vantage of our seclusion, we again thanked the noble 
fellow for his services in our behalf, expressing regrets 
at having so soon to separate from him. He said his 
work in the locality would be finished in a few hours 
more, in all probability, and he hoped to see us up the 
railroad “on the day after to-morrow.” The meal 
being over, we bade him good-by and repaired to the 
office of the unpretentious, though hospitable Elk. 

With a view to leaving for the railroad station, we 
asked for our bill, and the kindly host said he was glad 
to have entertained us, and hoped we would call again 
when in the vicinity. This we promised to do, in good 
faith. As to our bill, the Adjutant said he wished to 
be reasonable with newcomers; that he desired the 
country’s development, and would do anything in his 
power to locate new people. The big-hearted specu- 
lator told him to name his price, that we had been well 
cared for and preferred to do the liberal part by him. 
Compliments and falsehoods were exchanged at par, 
church affinities drew the good, the true, and the pure 
together. And they were good men, pure men, though 
neither was quite so pious as he would have the other 
believe. But, no matter ; man strives to live up to the 
impressions he creates. Anything that makes him 
better is good; everything is good that makes him 
better. 

The Adjutant finally got a business idea into his 
head, and slowly approached the matter at issue thus : 


190 


BreaKfast With Mr. Robert 

“Well, men, if we must part, let us part in peace. 
Green’s enjoyed yer company immense and seein’ yer 

kinder took to Green’s friend Bill ” He paused, 

placed his elbows on the counter, put his hands up to 
either side of his head as if to squeeze out a confused 
idea, a mental calculation, and concluded with : “Let’s 
see ; four of ye ; supper, bed and breakfas’ ; oh, erbout 
twenty cents er piece, I reckon — seventy-five cents fer 
ther lot o’ ye ; if ye think Green’s not onreasonable.” 

The thing was too absurdly ridiculous to be long 
endured. We were fairly dying with restrained emo- 
tions and only for the lawyer’s resourceful turn of 
affairs, must have offended our generous host with 
sportive behavior. Slapping him familiarly on the 
shoulder, the attorney said : “Green, old boy, you are 
a good fellow ; you keep an excellent tavern and must 
raise your price or go broke; may you live long and 
prosper.” With which the speaker cast three dollars 
on the counter and we hurried away under protests of 
Adjutant Richard Midriff Green, proprietor of the Elk 
Horn Tavern, Polk County, Arkansas, U. S. 

“Good feller,” call and see him. 

As a rule the better class of business men do not go 
into the hotel business, and the few who do always 
think less of themselves, always have something to re- 
gret. It is easier to run a livery stable than a country 
hotel ; more pleasant and profitable to feed horses than 
men. I took the matter up with a reoutable gentleman 
who was trying to conduct the two lines jointly, in a 
small border town, and he said that although there were 


Down in Arkansas 

many vicious horses brought in from the Territory, the 
larger share of the “kicking” was done in the hotel, and 
he was going to sell out to a widow and take a job on 
the railroad section. Literally, there is only one way 
that the business may be made profitable, and that is 
run a “poor dollar a day house” and charge two dollars 
per day for the accommodations. And so arduous is 
the employment that the average landlord will regard 
the change from a hotel to Hades as being a relief other 
than a punishment. 

As we moved briskly away the good Adjutant stood 
in the open door with the three dollars in his palm and 
to the very last insisted that he had been overpaid and 
did not feel right to accept so* much. This was true, 
every word of it, and is characteristic of the Hill Billy, 
whose munificence is remarkable, when it is considered 
that he has no abundance with which to make display. 
The tramp element found this region a veritable para- 
dise on earth, during and immediately subsequent to 
the construction of railroads. Now, however, it is not 
so great a bonanza, since here as elsewhere the Weary 
Willie abused the blessed privileges. 

Notwithstanding the homeliness of our surround- 
ings, while quartered at the village, we formed attach- 
ments for a number of the plain, honest people and 
experienced keen regrets at leaving them behind. 

Chief of our regrets, of course, was separating from 
the brave detective without rendering some slight ser- 
vice in his commendable work, but he explained that 
his plans were all arranged, every man knew his post 
192 


Breakfast With Mr. Robert 

of duty and that our presence would endanger his 
chance of success. 

The undertaking was fraught with many dangers 
and until we should know the results, must experience 
great anxiety for our friend’s sake. 

“By thar, brother Speeder,” yelled the Adjutant, 
as we turned a corner, “if Green don’t see ye down here 
no more, look Green up when yer come over yonder,” 
and he pointed heavenward. 


193 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE PRESENT INHABITANTS OF THE REGION 

Visited by Longfellow’s Evangeline 

The Storm God had spent his fiery breath, though 
his thundering “tater wagons,” like retreating artillery, 
still lumbered over the distant mountains, and the rain, 
though still falling, was abating. 

Just above the village a couple of vales empty into 
the Caddo at acute angles, and what had been a dry 
creek bed the evening before was now a raging torrent 
of destruction. Outhouses and fences, corn-shocks and 
straw-stacks were borne upon its crest, and it was re- 
ported that considerable live stock had perished and a 
number of people were drowned. Among the latter were 
a couple of legislators and a prominent congressional 
candidate; however, as they were not missed from 
among their numbers, it is probable the report was 
exaggerated. 

At about eight o’clock the huge black cloud lifted 
and sailed away over the distant hills. We called at 
the farmhouse, spent a social fifteen minutes lunching 
with the. family, then regretfully bade the good parents 

194. 


The Present Inhabitants of the Region 

and charming daughter “Auf wiedersehen.” The 
young lady was even more beautiful of form and intelli- 
gent of countenance in the strong light of day than she 
had appeared on the previous evening by lamplight. 

Evidently, however, she was sharing In human sor- 
row, from which the most precious endowments of 
nature are not exempt. The night had not been one of 
peaceful slumber for her, poor girl. The old father’s 
firm stand respecting her relations to the young de- 
tective was of course a source of disappointment; but 
her poignant anxiety was no doubt occasioned by the 
manifold dangers surrounding her lover. But all would 
soon be over ; the signal to close in on the moonshiners 
at the cave was to be given this very evening, and was 
to be the last raid — the finale of Heron Robert’s labor 
in the community, and maybe the last day on earth for 
some of the contending forces, possibly for young 
Robert himself. 

The stalwart sons went with us to the barn for the 
rig, and the speculator, apparently surprised at his own 
recklessness, liberally rewarded them for their generous 
care of the mules. 

All in readiness, we started for the railroad in ex- 
cellent spirits. The intervening country, was similar 
to that gone over on leaving the station many miles to 
the north, and in order to avoid like complications, a 
map was made showing the principal features of the 
route. Before reaching Hog Eye we should pass 
through a couple of semi-deserted towns, Hayworth 
and Hellen. 


i95 


Down in Arkansas 


What jealousies must have existed between these 
rival “trading points” anterior to the railroad days ! 
All was now over, however, and Hog Eye had effectu- 
ally subdued her competitors, which proves that there 
may be more in a location than in a name. 

The picturesque Caddo lay far in the rear, and the 
mules were tugging up the great blue ridge on the 
north side of the stream. Looking backward we could 
still see the narrow valley gorgeously outlined by the 
rising vapor, long drawn and fleecy, like carded lamb’s 
wool, extending from west to east with countless grace- 
ful turns as far as the eye could see. Diaphanous 
clouds no larger than pleasure yachts floated gently be- 
neath an arch of clear blue sky, and cast their shadows 
on the sun-burnished mountain peaks far away, pro- 
ducing gradations of light and shade ever changing and 
soul inspiring. “Never need an American look beyond 
his own country for the sublime and beautiful of natural 
scenery,” wrote Washington Irving, and his apothegm 
nowhere applies with more force than right here in the 
so-called wilds of Arkansas, where combinations of this 
order are unsurpassed. And these mountains are reser- 
voirs of pure air and pure water, so that the region is 
gaining a reputation as a scenic and health resort. 

It was through this wild land that Gabriel Lajeu- 
nesse, son of Basil the Blacksmith, wandered, followed 
by the adoring Evangeline Bellfontain. Witness the 
following lines from Longfellow’s beautiful poem : 


196 


The Present Inhabitants of the Region 

“Tedious even to me, that at last I bethought me, and sent him 
Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Span- 
iards, 

Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains 
Hunting for furs in the forest; on rivers trapping the 
beaver.” 

Now, it may have been that Adayes stood on the 
very spot where the more modern and euphonious Hog 
Eye nestles among the hills. Great changes have oc- 
curred since then even here, where inertia’s spinal 
column is still covered with hoary moss. How- 
ever, fewer and fewer votes are cast for Old Hickory 
every year ; the country is advancing and soon the great 
statesman will be neglected entirely. 

According to the poem just quoted, the Spaniards 
were in the mule business down here, and it seems 
remarkable that the donkey continued to prosper — in- 
crease in numbers, size, and importance — while his for- 
mer masters receded and retrograded, in obedience, 
maybe, to that law of “the survival of the fittest.” The 
comparison may be considered odious, and if so I beg 
the mule’s pardon. 

Respecting the devoted Evangeline’s failure to find 
her nomadic lover, it needs be said that even now, with 
the aid of bloodhounds, a battalion of beauties could 
scarce dislodge an escaped beau concealed in this 
rugged country. Therefore all love-sick maidens whose 
fiances skip to the Ozarks are admonished to remain 
at home and marry the widowers. 

As usual in traveling over these lonely trails, we 


197 


Down in Arkansas 

neither met nor overtook anyone, but followed the 
thrice-hacked trees with precision, and momentarily 
expected to reach Hayworth, the first of the desolate 
villages. At intervals along our route the letter “H” 
was carved in the bark of the large trees. Whether 
sign or symbol or another typical designation like that 
of the axe blazes we did not know, as it was not on 
our chart. The speculator got out of the vehicle to 
examine one of these, and scared up a young black 
bear, which ran with all its might, closely chased by 
our fat friend, who got close enough several times to 
kick the cub ; and he did it gracefully, but was finally 
outrun and regretfully gave up the chase. 

Wisdom’s deserted village loomed high in the dis- 
tance a couple of hundred yards away, perhaps, among 
the pines, and there was little enchantment in the view. 
We pitied the heart-broken community. It seemed too 
bad for any cause to kill off a town after it had been 
years striving for trade and had a fair start. In every 
such instance some good people are damaged and some 
even ruined, for numbers make values, and wounded 
pride goes with this sort of thing, which is harder to 
bear than loss of property. Before an empty 
store building, seated on a weather-beaten dry-goods 
box, was. an “old-timer” dreamily playing mumbly-peg. 
Since Spec’s chase — say thirty minutes — he had neither 
asked nor answered a question, something rare for a 
man of impulse. He saw his opportunity now, and 
having partially regained his breath, opened his in- 


198 


The Present Inhabitants of the Region 

quisitorial battery en echarper on old raw “Arkansaw” 
after this form : “Halloa, stranger !” 

“Howdy,” dryly remarked the Hill Billy, who 
never deigned to look up. Our companion, somewhat 
piqued, turned on a broadside, forcing the delusive old 
mossback out of his shell. 

“I say, Colonel, is this Hayworth?” 

“It uster be, mister; ’taint worth er durn now.” 
His sharp retort put the laugh on Kansas City. 

“How long, Colonel, may I ask, have you resided 
in this locality ?” 

“Do yer mean bin here?” 

“Why, certainly. How long have you lived about 
this place?” 

“See that thar mountain over yonder?” 

“Why?” 

“Well, hit cum here since I did.” 

“Hm ! Do you expect to remain indefinitely?” 

“Indefenly ?” 

“Yes, permanently?” 

“Parmanly ?” 

“I mean, will you stay here long?” 

“Well, why in the name of ‘Old Hickory’ didn’t yer 
say so? I ’low I’ll stay ’bout here tell the mountain 
goes erway.” 

Spec paused. “Have you raised a family, Colonel?” 

“Ho, ho, ho ! Well, I reckon.” 

“How many children, please?” 

The old man hesitated, ran the fingers of his left 
hand with the thumb and forefinger of his right, then 
199 


Down in Arkansas 

changed from left to right, thence to third on his left, 
with the precision of working a double time lock. 
“Thirteen,” he ejaculated, “by not countin’ Merlindy.” 

“And why not count her ?” 

“ ’Cause Merlindy, dog-on her buttons, don’t ber- 
long to the family nohow; she married one o’ them 
durned Yankees at close o’ the wah, an’ we’re not 
gwine ter call ’er ourn no mo’,” and he drew himself 
up with indignation at the thought of his wayward 
child. 

Spec was getting the worst of it right along, but 
never desisted until he knew all about the family. 
“May I ask how many times you have been married, 
Colonel?” 

The old man pulled out a twist of hillside navy, and 
slowly tearing off small bits at a time filled his mouth, 
and after giving it several turns spit at a crack and 
drowned a fly, then said : “Onst’s all anybody knows 
erbcut.” 

“I hope your good wife has been spared to you ?” 

“Well, I reckon.” 

“And your children ?” 

“Well, I reckon; all but Merlindy.” 

We clucked at the mules and started on toward 
Hellen . ' 

“Much obliged, Colonel; good-by.” 

“ ’By,” and he resumed his solitary game. We had 
gone a couple of hundred feet — practically out of town 
— when the speculator suddenly reined up and fired a 


200 


The Present Inhabitants of the Region 

parting salute thus : “I say there, Colonel, what is the 
significance of the initial on the timber ?” 

“Signifence? ’Nitial?” 

“Yes; the letter H?” 

“Stan’s for Hayworth, Hellen, Hog Eye,” and his 
“Arkansaw toothpick” came point down with a quiver 
on the pine box. 

“Good - by, Colonel ; good - by, old gentleman ; 
thanks.” No reply. Like her sister, the town once 
had general merchandise stores, cotton gins, etc., etc. ; 
but the railroad — oh, the mighty civilizer — which 
brought prosperity to the section in a general sense, 
had about obliterated numerous straggling villages 
along its course. 

Such as were nearest lost the greatest number of 
inhabitants, to be sure. Even some through which the 
road passed were depopulated because the construction 
company could purchase town sites and abutting prop- 
erties for less money a few miles away. 

Hellen, where we arrived without incident at noon, 
was only eight miles from the new thoroughfare, and 
the more ambitious of her people had loaded their 
effects, including dwellings and store buildings, on 
wheels, and gone over to Hog Eye. When the latter 
was reached we found that the egotism of success was 
about six inches deep over the town site, and that it 
didn’t get much thinner for some distance out. The 
boomers were confident that Hog Eye, with its brand 
new name and a railroad, would rival Kansas City in 
due time. 


201 


CHAPTER XX 


A SOUTHERN WIDOW 

Her Recollections 

Hunger, that mighty conqueror of dainty stomachs 
and lofty airs, once more asserted itself, and though 
the prospects for a sumptuous meal was anything 
rather than encouraging, we reined up in front of the 
ante-bellum structure which had long been Hellen’s 
hostelry. On the front porch sat an elderly lady con- 
tentedly smoking her clay pipe, and she cordially bade 
us enter. 

Go where one may in this backwoods country, at 
morning, noon, or night, unknown and unannounced, 
he will receive the kindliest reception, and in ninety out 
of every hundred of such calls may dine, free of charge, 
on plain, nutritious food prepared in the cleanliest and 
most palatable manner. True, the houses in which 
these generous people lived present a homely exterior, 
but usually within are clean and inviting. This one was 
no exception to the rule, and the appetizing dinner 
spread before us on a marble-colored oilcloth * was 
greatly relished, while the dear old lady — our hostess — 


202 


A Southern Widow 

bv whose hand it was prepared, talked interestingly of 
her trials in the wild region. Her memory dated back 
to the ever-memorable War of the Rebellion. 

Notwithstanding her clay pipe and cheap dress, she 
was a woman of intelligence, and, like all who have 
keenly suffered, possessed breadth of soul. She spoke 
briefly of her former residence in Georgia, where her 
father had been a large planter, and where she was 
married to a Confederate officer who died a number 
of years ago, leaving her the comfort and care of a 
couple of daughters, now young women. One of these 
we had seen driving a yoke of oxen which dragged a 
plow through a stumpy piece of new ground in an ad- 
joining lot. The young ladies — for such they proved to 
be in the fullest sense of the word — came into the room 
and were introduced to the strangers. The elder was a 
brunette, in features like her mother, and her sister’s 
opposite in complexion, and must have resembled the 
paternal side of the house. Like the good mother, 
they were clad in well-worn coarse garments, yet bore 
evidence of womanly modesty and general intelligence. 
Two fairer specimens of rustic beauty could not be 
found in the great healthful Ozarks. 

Even Maud Muller in her palmiest day (pride of 
the meadow as raker of hay), with all her beauty and 
wealth of golden hair, to these dear creatures doth 
poorly compare. Accustomed to toil even with plow 
and hoe, they went to the field as Ruth used to go, 
and from the forest cut and carted the wood to aid a 
hapless mother’s widowhood. Rather than separate 
203 


Down in Arkansas 

from her they loved, or live embarrassed, they had 
adopted the only possible employment which then guar- 
anteed independence in the locality. May God reward 
their noble example ! 

At their outdoor occupations each one wore a ging- 
ham sunbonnet and heavy woolen half-handers ; how- 
ever, their faces were somewhat browned and their 
finger-tips, from frequent contact with farm imple- 
ments, were callous ; otherwise they bore no marks of 
muscular efforts. But better calloused hands than in- 
durated hearts; better independent. maids of honest toil 
than a “thousand inferior and particular propositions.” 

Notwithstanding limited school advantages, the 
young ladies had been trained from childhood by their 
fond mother, whose boast was that her daughters had 
read every book in the neighborhood, including, of 
course, the deceased father’s small library. 

The Bostonian was so much impressed by their un- 
usual employment, if not smitten with the younger’s 
charms, that he ventured to advise our hostess in a 
would-be-son-in-law sort of way. His was a noble na- 
ture, a refined mind, and an animated soul, which ren- 
dered him a subject of moral distinction, a leader and 
inspirer of action. Gay as a youth, wise as a sage, and 
withal deeply sympathetic, he spoke feelingly of her 
charming daughters, of their lonely surroundings, lack 
of educational advantages, and lastly of their limited 
opportunities to form proper matrimonial alliances. 
Though apparently presumptuous, it was simply the 
outpouring of a generous heart, the words of wisdom, 
204 


A Southern Widow 

the grace of a pure and kindly nature. The daughters 
were attentive and appreciative, hanging upon his im- 
pulsive speech “like the bee upon the flower.” In their 
innocent eyes he was a Solomon of wisdom, a Demos- 
thenes of eloquence, and a veritable “Beau Brummel” 
in attire. 

He talked of the big, busy world, of men and 
women, books and travel, cities and plays, and all the 
while the lassies stared at his English whiskers with 
rural simplicity. He was the handsomest man they 
had ever seen, the best entertainer they ever heard, and 
had stolen into their solitude more like a dream than 
a reality. Again he turned to the old mother, this time 
to bid adieu. “Madam, let me advise you. Sell your 
land and go with your daughters where they may have 
some such social advantages as were yours in early 
life ; move up to Washington or Benton County.” 

Until now the old lady had been a placid listener 
and her manner that of an admiring mother-in-law. 
Unfortunately, our companion had suggested what 
many of these people regard as an improper change, 
and some of them even consider an offense. “Go no’th, 
sah? Nevah!” All the prejudices she had cherished 
more than a quarter of a century were suddenly 
aroused. “How horrible!” she vehemently exclaimed. 
“I would see those northe’n people doomed first.” 
Marauders, whom she still believed representative of 
the Yankee race, had come and conquered ; “killed the 
last hog, stolen the last chicken, burned houses and 
fences, and murdered her old father.” The fire of 
205 


Down in Arkansas 

hatred still smouldered in her soul, and its blaze was 
aglow in her eyes. She was now more the kind of 
mocher-in-law whom wicked editors delight to prate, 
but who, after all, are not so numerous as are bad 
sons-in-law. The best friend that man has in the 
world, other than his own mother and wife, is his wife’s 
mother. It depends on how you train her. A bad 
mother-in-law is usually paramount to a bad wife — if 
the wife is not made such by a poor stick of a husband 
— and is an awful reflection on one’s judgment. 

Our hostess was pacing the floor in a state of agita- 
tion, her features quivering with wild, maddened ex- 
pression. “Don’t mention the No’th to me, sah!” she 
shrieked. “I wouldn’t go up there and live among the 
accu’sed Yankees for nothing in the wo’ld,sah; nevah.” 

Amazed, we looked inquiringly at the sisters. The 
elder came nearer and whispered, “Don’t mind mother, 
sahs; she’s insane on the subject. Please change the 
conversation.” And great tears trickled from the fair 
speaker’s eyes. 

“May God forgive me,” the Bostonian murmured. 
“I am so sorry. It was all my fault that she was re- 
minded of so terrible an event.” 

“Don’t mind it, sah,” pleaded the young woman. 
“You are a strong man and can overlook poor mother’s 
indignation; she cannot forget.” 

The shrewd lawyer engaged the afflicted parent’s 
attention, and her manner was soon calm as before. 
Several dollars in Yankee coin was stacked upon the 
table, a silent tribute to affliction and old age. 

206 


A Southern Widow 

Here was a broken heart and a deranged mind, all 
resulting from a single impressional war scene like 
which, alas ! were many, both North and South. 

The primitive innocence of these people was aston- 
ishing, it being a common belief among them that 
everybody living north of the Boston Mountains were 
Yankees, whose abdomens bore indigo stripes differing 
from the rings of a raccoon’s tail only in color. 

Plainly the Hill Billy’s undue bias of mind has re- 
tarded the growth and prosperity of the country. But 
had the Yankees who passed through here during the 
Civil War behaved themselves as good Yankees should, 
prejudices of a sectional nature would probably have 
been buried long ago in the tomb of forgetfulness. 


207 


CHAPTER XXI 


UNEXPECTEDLY DELAYED 

The Invitation 

Our well-fed team stood ready for the start, the 
travelers descended the steps fronting the widow’s 
home, passed out at the gate, and were in the act of 
seating themselves in the wagon when the hostess ap- 
peared at the door and waved her hand, as if to stay 
theii departure. The younger daughter was observed 
to be in a whispered conversation with her mother, and 
at frequent intervals the winsome miss cast hurried, 
meaning glances at the Bostonian, her manner being 
that of extreme animation. 

“I’m blessed if I don’t believe that girl’s mashed on 
you, boss,” said the speculator in mock earnestness. 

Slowly the widow came down the walk, her hands 
folded in an apron and a look of solicitude overspread- 
ing her half-smiling countenance. The travelers alight- 
ed and with uncovered heads advanced to meet her. 
“Sahs, you are only strangers,” said she, “though I 
have come to express my ” 

“Ah, say now, my dear madam, please do not men- 
tion the little matter,” the lawyer protested, believing 
208 


Unexpectedly Delayed 

she wished to express her gratitude for the liberal 
donation, or apologize for the outburst of animosity. 
His interruption caused us some minutes of anxiety. 

“I must mention it, sah, though it is breaking my 
heart.” And the poor old soul covered her face, fur- 
rowed with care, and sought relief in woman’s tears. 

We were confused. Unquestionably she came at 
her daughter’s instance ; but the import of her mission 
was still obscure. 

“I beg a thousand pardons, madam; of what did 
you wish to speak?” 

“Of my daughter’s infatuation, sah ; she begs me to 
inform you that — that -” 

“A decree of nature, madam ; let me persuade you 
to mind it not,” the lawyer again interposed with heart- 
less philosophy. 

So heavily did the object weigh on the widow’s 
mind that she did not immediately reply. 

Vague suspicions intruded upon our imaginations. 
Perhaps there was some truth in the speculator’s absurd 
intimation, after all. The young lady had shown a 
marked interest in the Bostonian from the very first, 
and he had openly shown his appreciation of her every 
little attention. Being a man of remarkable physique 
and powerful magnetism, perhaps she had fallen blindly 
in love with him. Strange things happen with the heart, 
thought we. The Bostonian certainly realized the grav- 
ity of the situation ; at least the poor fellow looked as 
if he were stricken either with Cupid’s or a Comanche 
arrow. There are men who exert their power with 
209 


Down in Arkansas 

grossness and foppery, and had rather be pursued by 
a score of admiring women than chased by a single 
angry man; but our companion was of a nobler type. 
Bravest of the brave, he had recently confronted the 
tornado without a tremor and the moonshiners without 
change of color, and now that he fancied himself loved 
by a tender woman he was wholly bereft of courage. 

The disconsolate sobs of the mother, had there been 
nothing more serious in prospect, was enough to beget 
silence and sympathy; yet the wild suspicion that the 
“mountain pink” had become enamored of our bachelor 
hero, and that her mother was the harbinger of the 
burning secret, so amused the speculator that he en- 
deavored to conceal his mirth by stuffing his big mouth 
with a soiled bandanna, and with his eyes bulged out 
looked as if he didn’t have sense enough left to kill 
himself. Few men can laugh in the presence of wom- 
an’s tears ; but this grand duke of exuberance would 
indulge in heartless hilarity even at his mother-in-law’s 
funeral. 

The cold, calculating lawyer understood the crisis 
in affairs, or thought he did, and was seeking some ex- 
cuse by which to escape consequences without more 
deeply offending the family. “Come,” said he, “women 
have been captivated ere now.” 

“True, sah; but my daughter is so innocent, and 
there exists such disparity. I had hoped for her a better 
fate — so young, so noble ; her dear father over again.” 

Spec nudged his companions in the ribs, which was 
to say, “Make note of her disparity allusion,” 

210 


Unexpectedly Delayed 

All the world is said to love a lover, and truly did 
our heartfelt sympathies go out to the humble and the 
proud alike. For nobler man ne’er pitied woman’s 
heart, purer woman never loved in vain ; if station only 
keep these two apart, what need of pity, what cause for 
pain? 

“Disparity, madam,” said the lawyer impressively ; 
“of what does this dissimilitude consist ?” 

“Of everything, sah, save youth and poverty.” 

( Speculator removed handkerchief, lawyer coughed 
spasmodically, and the Bostonian looked as pleased as 
if he had gone into partnership with a trust.) 

“The dear child has received some benefits from my 
liberal education and is a fair scholar, while her in- 
tended is only a simple mountain boy, barely two years 
her senior, illiterate, unused to the world’s hard ways, 
and of a family long accustomed to drudgery. How- 
ever, surrounded as we are, I have at last yielded to 
the inevitable, and though they go forth with a mother’s 
good wishes, God knows my heart’s consent they can 
never have.” 

Her tears had ceased to flow, and all the proud blood 
of southern ancestry coursed through her veins as she 
repeated the oft-told tale of love and conquest. 

A gentle tapping on the window ; the widow ex- 
cused herself and went to the house, presumably to 
advise with her daughters. 

“How very absurd was our stupid suspicions and 
vain imagination,” the Bostonian declared ; and a smile 
lacking in brightness stole over his companions’ faces, 
211 


Down in Arkansas 


“Right you are, old friend ; unreasonable suspicion 
is a human weakness that may dethrone reason, crown 
infamy, or set the seal of obliquy on the purest brow.” 

“ ‘To err is human, to forgive divine/ ” Spec 
quoted; “and I forgive everybody connected with this 
affair, especially ” 

“Yourself,” said the lawyer ; and parodying a local 
ballad our jolly fat friend sang his confession thus: 

“What fools are we, travelers four, 

Ho, Sallie Givens, ho! 

Three of a kind and one more, 

Ho, Sallie Givens, ho.” 

Miss Givens was a veritable virago who some years 
before gained local renown at an extemporaneous hug- 
ging match, in which she sadly worsted a black bear, 
and afterward thrashed a throng of bearded men for 
making sport of her prowess. Agreeable to the song : 

“She hugged ther ‘bah’ till it cried, 

Ho, Sallie Givens, ho ! 

An’ run ther fox till it died, 

Ho, Sallie Givens, ho.” 

By chance brought face to face in the wood, the 
ferocious beast embraced Miss Sallie ; and after a sort 
of savage rigadoon the “bah” retired from the unequal 
contest with dislocated jaw and fractured ribs, minus 
an ear, and convinced that “there are others.” 

“Thank Heaven, we have learned the truth, if only 
to our shame,” exclaimed the Bostonian, “and nothing 
more serious than a Hill Billy wedding is on the tapis ; 


212 


Unexpectedly Delayed 

it will be great, I warrant.” And stammering on every 
word, concluded with this golden admission, “Though 
I confess that my heart warmed to the dear little 
woman when I believed she cared for me,” and he 
looked bereaved. Observing his serious cast of mind, 
the speculator cheerily remarked: “Well, we are a 
fortunate lot of rovers, at any rate; I never before 
visited a land where variety of scene and circumstance 
so conspired for one’s entertainment.” 

“And detained us on one notable occasion ?” queried 
the lawyer. Here was to be an entire change of pro- 
gram — something rich, rare, and racy ; a feast, 
music, and the dance. 

The good old mother, unobserved by the speculator, 
just then returned to the gate and heard him exclaim, 
“Oh, for an invite !” 

“Why, sah, did you not understand me? The wed- 
din’s to occur this evenin’, and I came at my daughter’s 
request to bid you all remain as our guests. They in- 
sist upon it, sahs. In fact, Pauline (the younger) begs 
that, since I cannot give her away with liberal hand, 
that you, sah (indicating the Bostonian), perform the 
right for her. She awaits your decision at the doo-ah, 
gentlemen.” Turning round we beheld the winsome 
miss smiling down upon us, a living picture of rustic 
beauty — artless, unadorned, much too young to wed, 
and too simple to oppose man’s deceptive juggling with 
her innocent heart. 

“Won’t you for me, please ?” pleaded the betrothed. 

“That we will, miss, and with more pleasure than 


213 


Down in Arkansas 

you believe ; we are grateful for your invitation,” was 
the reply; and the venerable jurist gave her a look of 
encouragement such as a fond father would bestow 
upon his child. 

“Oh, thank you, sahs!” she cried out; then went 
bounding away with child-like enthusiasm and was 
heard to call to her sister : “Oh, sis, they’re going to 
stay; won’t that tickle my Woody? Goody, goody!” 
And we heard clapping of hands and her merry 
laughter. 

We went into the house, where all was bustle and 
confusion. Preparations for the nuptial ceremonies 
were progressing splendidly and rapidly under the 
leadership of the elder sister, assisted by a coterie of 
girls and young women who had called in the meantime, 
all of whom were of the Hill Billy type : 

“Kindly disposed, modest creatures, 

Lofty of form, coarse of features ; 

Backward of speech, scant of graces, 

Guileless of heart, innocent faces.” 



214 


CHAPTER XXII 


AWAITING THE EVENT 


A Gathering of Hill Billies 

The travelers sat in the one commodious room of the tavern 

And, from different points of view, discussed the approaching 
nuptials ; 

The windows were raised and doors swung out on rusty 
hinges, 

While a breeze, soft as the breath of angels, fanned the cheeks 
of strangers. 

The mother, even with feeling, entered into the occasion, 

And assisted with affection in the hurried preparation ; 

Her daughters and all there assembled, broke forth in song 
enchanting, 

Rendering “Nearer My God to Thee,” the anthem oft repeat- 
ing. 

And while frying brown the doughnuts, they placed on a 
centre table, 

With their gentle hands and willing, both family heirlooms 
and the Bible; 

Chrysanthemum bouquets, red, white, and yellow, stood on the 
mantel, 

And in the room’s dark corners hung wreaths of autumn leaves 
and myrtle. 

Lulled by rhythmic tones, the cynic leaned forward as if re- 
peating 

Some devotional ode, his noble head in his hands reclining; 

Oblivious to friends about him, yet in his mind reflecting, 

On the depths of faith, pure and simple, among the poor and 
humble. 

Self-possessed, his accents in solemnity’s tenderest cadence 


Down in Arkansas 

Lent grace to his flowers of speech as the spirit gave them 
utterance ; 

“Go bring me the pen touched with hallowed fire, ink from 
sacred fountains, 

And consecrated vellum, that here in these lonely solitudes 
In the heart of the wood, may be enrolled a mother’s Christian 
zeal, 

And daughters’ righteous fervor that subtle, unobserved moral 
force, 

Which from among the meek and lowly once evolved a 
Lincoln.” 

The invited wedding guests, and some that were 
neither invited nor wanted, were arriving and congre- 
gating about the tavern. The major portion of these 
came long distances on horseback, in pairs of “boy and 
girl,” riding double. “Boy and girl” means unmar- 
ried people, since none are dignified as man and woman 
so long as they remain single, which they rarely do 
after eighteen. It was observed that the young man 
invariably occupied the saddle, as in the old song, 
“Carlias rode on before and Kerchunkey on behind.” 

“I never knew the couple,” said the lawyer; “but 
would wager a pound of flesh that ‘Kerchunkey’ was 
a female. Man may be depended upon to take a front 
seat in matters when he is jointly associated with the 
weaker vessel. There are certain notable exceptions, 
such as washing and ironing, milking, and making fires 
cold mornings ; and even in a bar’ fight has generously 
permitted his better half to lead, though wherever 
drudgery and danger are lacking and gain or glory 
the reward, man’s inhumanity to woman has been 
pronounced.” 

In Hill-Billydom a wedding is second only to a cir- 


216 


Awaiting the Event 

cus as a drawing card ; and rather than miss the latter, 
these frolic-loving folk often sell some article of house- 
furnishing to raise the price of admission. The Hill 
Billy is the sort of chap to appreciate a circus, even at 
the sacrifice of a cook stove, which he regards as a 
new-fangled Yankee invention in any event, and wholly 
unnecessary as a housekeeping adjunct. This class of 
entertainment, with its attendant “skin games” and 
bunco-steerers, appreciate the Hill Billy also, and usu- 
ally fleece him of his scant belongings before he is 
permitted to leave the show grounds. 

Thus shorn, he returns to his little cabin home with 
revolution in his heart, and evolution, it is hoped, plow- 
ing deep furrows in the hitherto unturned sod of his 
brain pan, his only solace being that he has seen “ther 
elerfant an’ sircurious.” 

The stranger would look upon the regulation Hill 
Billy wedding, with its feast, music, and song, and in- 
imitable dance, as the equal of a circus in the way of 
entertainment. This one promised to rival the 
greatest hippodrome on the road. 

Some strange types of the Hill Billy were loitering 
about the grounds ; one in particular attracted the trav- 
elers’ attention by reason of his strange dress and physi- 
cal proportions. Ludicrous from oddity, evidently a 
buffoon, his droll sayings, manners, or something of 
his personality, was the occasion of continuous and 
uproarious hilarity on the part of those gathered about 
him. Taller by several inches than either of his com- 
panions ; and as to lack of flesh, of which all Hill Billies 
217 


Down in Arkansas 

are lamentably short, this huge stack of bones surpassed 
anything ever seen outside of a museum. He stood 
too far away to be heard; but we put in the time by 
noting his irregular form, which, like the mirage, was 
too big in some quarters and too small in others. The 
same material, economically handled and properly ar- 
ranged, would have made adult twins. By the measure- 
ment of vision he was little short of seven feet per- 
pendicularly, and varied circuitously from forty odd 
inches around the chest to not more than thirty-two 
inches waistband, and had a pair of hips like a Durham 
steer. Hanging loose from its own weight, his skin 
seemed to fit little more evenly than his homespun 
shirt and “britches,” the former made of linsey-wool- 
sey, ornamented by alternate green and yellow stripes, 
and the latter colored with the rind of the native wal- 
nut — a golden brown much admired throughout Hill- 
Billydom. His coarse socks — of color same as when 
on the sheep, burrs and dust intact — lay limp over his 
shoe tops, as if in contempt of his bared ankles and 
the trouser legs some inches above. A blue ribbon 
band an inch or more wide and a scarlet ostrich plume 
some ten inches long decorated his broad-brimmed felt 
hat, and his trousers, glittering with splendor in the 
evening sun, were held in place by one lone “gallus” 
made of striped bed-ticking, fastened at either end by 
ten-penny nails ; and notwithstanding he was so ugly 
as to have been justifiable in committing suicide, we 
knew he must be a married man. When chance set 
one of his admirers under our window, inquiry was 
218 


Awaiting the Event 

made as to his identity, and we were informed that he 
was a “nateral-born musiken.” 

“He looks more like a natural-born curiosity,” mut- 
tered the speculator ; then opened his inquisitorial safe- 
ty deposit box and looked over its assets. 

“Musician, eh? What particular instrument does 
this big fellow play ?” Spec asked. 

“Instrument?” repeated his Hihship reflectively. 

“Why, of course ; musical instrument, I mean.” 

“Say, mister, he don’t play no insterment, he don’t.” 

“What? Don’t play a violin, guitar, mandolin, nor 
harmonica ?” 

“Never heered o’ them.” 

“Didn’t you just say he was a musician?” 

“Well, I reckon, mister.” 

“Then what in the blue blazes does he play?” 

“Well, er fiddle, ’cordian, banger, fife, bones, an’ er 
clevis.” 

“Clevis? Ha, ha! Who ever heard of playing a 
clevis? Say, Bill-Hilley, what kind of an instrument 
is a clevis, anyway?” 

“It’s no insterment, mister, it haint. It’s er — it’s er 
— clevis, that’s what.” 

“Yes, but what is a clevis I wish to know.” 

The speculator’s ignorance of farm tools caused 
the Hill Billy to laugh immoderately, and he then ex- 
claimed : “Well, I’ll be durned if that don’t beat hens 
er peckin’ ; don’t know er clevis frum er grubbin’ hoe. 
Say, mister, whar war ye brought up, anyhow ?” With 


219 


Down in Arkansas 

this he contemptuously left us and moved over to the 
fun-makers around the gaunt musician. 

“That duck thinks I am an infernal idiot, and I 
know he is one of them things himself,” vowed the 
speculator. 

“Which proves that the two of you are still rational 
enough to form reasonably fair conclusions,” the law- 
yer twitted, and the Bostonian applauded with a merry 
chuckle. 

The crowd without, composed of young men and 
half-grown boys, was a study for an artist with a 
penchant for the grotesque in character sketching. 
However, with all their oddities, they were good- 
natured and orderly, and appeared to be delighted 
with this chance meeting at their young friend’s 
"weddin’” 

Personality in rural districts counts for more than 
it does in metropolitan communities, where individual- 
ity seems lost or swallowed up in the great harmonious 
whole. On the contrary, class distinction, while not en- 
tirely obliterated, is certainly less clearly defined here 
than in cities. It may be considered ungenerous to 
designate these people by the common name of Hill 
Billies, and to claim attributes for them which group 
them as a class or species. However, it is the duty of 
the author to relate facts according to the light he has, 
and let the reader determine for himself as to the jus- 
tice or injustice of his claim. Whether due to having 
passed through a period of time under like influences, 
or common parentage, their personal characteristics 


220 


Awaiting the Event 

have remained undegenerate, and there is a remarkable 
degree of similarity, especially in structural form. 

They mingle on terms approaching social equality, 
yet those before our window represented no less than 
three types, exemplifying the singularities of the young 
and fickle element. Later in life many of these lads 
will develop into men of ability, and doubtless all of 
them will become good and useful citizens, notwith- 
standing present appearances, which are unmistakably 
foppish. Fortunately, here as elsewhere in this so- 
called vain world, the really proud and haughty are in 
the minority, and among their less pretentious but 
superior associates, are easily discernible by lofty airs 
and affected attire. All over this broad land, threaten- 
ing society, there are other and far more sinful prac- 
tices that bear no such visible marks. 

The vainglorious dude of the hills, first class, usu- 
ally encases his pedal extremities in high-heeled boots, 
the morocco tops of which, worn on the outer surface 
of his trousers, are ornamented with blue, green, red, 
or yellow half-moons and stars to match, cut or stamped 
into the leather. He also wears an ornamental ostrich 
plume in his hat, bright-colored ribbons in the button- 
holes of his waistcoat, and around his slender waist a 
leather belt filled with bright brass cartridges. Need- 
less to say, he is greatly admired by the Hill Sallies in 
general and by himself in particular. 

The ostentatious fop of the second class, destitute 
of funds with which to adorn himself after the high 
and mighty style of his more fortunate rival, appeases 
221 


Down in Arkansas 

his vanity by wearing boots of less expensive make, 
minus the effective half-moons and arbitrary stars; 
yet on state occasions conforms to custom by exposing 
his leather, and instead of the graceful ostrich plume 
dangling from his headgear contents himself with the 
brilliant-hued rump feather of the arrogant peacock. 

Of the third or lower stratum little may be said. 
At gatherings of this kind he is usually conspicuous 
by his absence, being still untamed. However, on this 
auspicious occasion his sort, in considerable numbers, 
were on exhibition, and the travelers made a close study 
of his peculiarities. Many of these fellows go bare- 
foot during the greater part of the year, and it is 
claimed can kick fire out of the flint rock with their 
element- seasoned heels. When this superficial pre- 
tender affects embellishment of person, he simply dons 
a pair of brogan shoes, sticks a rooster feather in his 
coonskin cap, and, like Ajax of old — or a jackass of this 
day and time — defies even the lightning to tread where 
he goeth. The only thing he buys in duplicate during 
the run of a year is a bottle of “moonshine best” and 
“flat terbacker.” 


222 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE WEDDING 

Something of the Hill Billy's Ancestry 

Among those last to arrive was the youthful groom, 
accompanied by the good and devout clergyman, a 
Presbyterian of Scotch ancestry. Riding up to the 
tavern gate, they were hailed with hearty greetings by 
the loungers on the outside, and welcomed to the 
house by the ladies, where they received the sacrificing 
mother’s blessing and the congratulations of the 
travelers. 

Later, on being introduced to the bridegroom, the 
Bostonian said : “I am delighted to meet you, Mr. 
Stripling.” 

“Thank you, sah, and I am pleased to know you. 
My Pauline has told me of your kindness to the family, 
and that from you I am to receive her hand.” 

Petitioning for divine favor, the minister spoke 
thus briefly : “May all-wise God bless this young 
couple, and save us poor mortals all.” 

Occasionally one may meet a person, whose very 
name is an incidental allusion to such an one’s person- 

223 


Down in Arkansas 

ality, and here certainly was a case in point. Stripling, 
Woodard .Stripling, a naturalized Hill Billy, in years 
a youth, in mind a boy, and yet so soon to become the 
husband of Pauline Stagney, the fairest maid of the 
Fousche La Fave. 

“The King said, Inquire thou whose son the strip- 
ling is,” quoted the lawyer, and smiling, the clergyman 
said : “First book of Samuel, chapter seven, verse 
fifty-six. Yea, I had not before recalled the passage.” 

There are moments in the midst of an author’s 
work, when he may well hesitate lest his readers be- 
lieve him false to his trust, and such was the predica- 
ment on reaching this stage of my story. It would add 
little of merit or interest to claim veracity for a tale, 
since fact and fancy in one ceaseless round outdo each 
other; yet it is admitted, with some misgivings to be 
sure, that the following respecting the bridegroom, is 
the truth without a flaw, without a blemish. Issued 
from the progeny of kings, not exactly the scion, 
though a descendant, if not an heir of royalty, young 
Stripling at once interested the philosophical lawyer, 
whose intellectual trap was ever set for the novel in 
life. 

It appears, that now, more than a hundred years 
ago, a certain profligate prince, went over to the West 
Indies' and through some hocus pocus acquired many 
landed estates. Under an assumed name, he loved and 
married a lady of inferior rank, and as it is well known 
left-handed marriages among royalty, while technically 
binding, fail to confer on the wife the title or fortune of 


224 


The Wedding 

her husband, and the children the full status of legiti- 
macy. As a result of this morganatic union, two chil- 
dren were born, who reached their respective majori- 
ties, and were long permitted, by English law, to enjoy 
the revenues of the West Indian property. The elder, 
a son, years afterward became prominent in British 
army circles, bearing his princely father’s assumed 
name of Simpson, in which name a will was made, 
leaving the splendid estates to the two children. After 
making a tour of America, Colonel Simpson returned 
to England and died without issue, leaving his sister 
sole heir of the royal gifts. For a long time she was a 
ward of the British Chancery and, marrying an Ameri- 
can gentleman, at the time visiting in London, moved to 
this country with her husband, where she continued to 
live until removed to her final reward. Two sons still 
survive her, the elder, a kindly old gentleman, at this 
time a respected citizen of Arkansas, is the parent of 
Woodard Stripling. It will be recalled that the 
Widow Stagney's reference, respecting these descend- 
ants of a disparaged union, was not calculated to pre- 
pare the travelers for the strange facts afterward 
revealed. But, brief as had been her remarks, they con- 
tained all that can be said on the irony of fate. Many 
years have elapsed since the family were denied their 
own, and none are so helpless as those who learn not 
to help themselves. 

Notwithstanding his lineal magnitude and the 
further consideration, that in a direct line of descent, he 
is only three generations removed from kings, the 


225 


Down in Arkansas 

bridegroom gives promise of future excellence, and 
may sometime become an honored member of that 
peerless body of law makers, the Arkansas Legisla- 
ture, thus effectually refuting the degeneracy theory. 

With a heart full of compassion for the young 
couple, the Bostonian approached “Woody,” as the 
groom was affectionately designated by the comely 
bride, and looking him square in the face, said : “Mr. 
Stripling, the lady I am to give away, like yourself, is 
young in years and experience, therefore permit me to 
admonish you, in the name of all you hold sacred, to be 
faithful to her, true to yourself, and just so surely will 
the future bring its reward.” 

“God bless you, sah, and good luck be yours ; here 
is my sacred promise,” and the affianced grasped our 
companion’s hand, warmly pressing it in his own broad, 
brown palms. The friends dearest to the betrothed 
were requested to assemble in the “sitting-room,” al- 
ready described, and everything was now in readiness 
for the ceremony. 

It is needless to dwell on the external form, which 
was according to the ritual of the Presbyterian 
Church, and while there was nothing of regal pomp 
about it, the good pastor, with the dignity of a Knox, 
was tenacious of etiquette, modest, earnest, and pro- 
foundly impressive throughout the procedure. Suf- 
fice it to say, therefore, that the groom received his 
pretty, blushing bride from the Bostonian’s hand ; and 
when the nuptial benediction had been pronounced our 
cultured friend lost little time in procuring the pro- 


226 


The Wedding 

verbial first kiss. That one bestowed on the bride 
was a “regular smacker,” and the one he received in 
compensation had the compound interest added and 
was what the Hill Billies called “er jaw-breaker.” 
Being the first wife he had espoused, the young hus- 
band looked as if he were threatened with connubial 
indigestion; while his bride, blushing crimson at the 
courtly bachelor’s touch, seemed to realize, as must, 
sooner or later, all girls who wed too young, that more 
than one man occupies this big world. While in- 
appropriately applied to this bride and our companion, 
the following lines may cause some hasty couples to 
pause and reflect, for to marry without serious pur- 
pose, though permitted by man, is punishable by a law 
mightier than his. 

HE 

“Although not designed for me. 

That dear, good heart of thine, 

With all unconscious energy 
Did seem to warm to mine. 

SHE. 

“How strange, indeed, to me doth seem 
Yet I must own it true, 

But yesterday of one I’d dream, 

To-day, alas ! are two. 

AND THEY. 

“And while two hearts beat to condone 
Some sad truths to relate, 

Each to the other, thus did own 
Abandon to its fate.” 

Mrs. Stripling withstood the matrimonial ordeal 
with becoming modesty. Mr. Stripling, though paled 


227 


Down in Arkansas 

by momentary jealousies, soon recovered his com- 
posure; and the Bostonian, needless to say, issued 
forth from the little romance as from the shadow of 
an oak, “heart whole and fancy free.” 

“My dear young friend, here is a small marriage 
portion,” said the radiant bachelor, and he presented 
the bride with a crinkled fifty-dollar bill, “and with 
it my blessing and good wishes for yours and your 
husband’s future happiness.” 

Whether from hearing her “Woody” referred to 
as her “husband,” or other reasons, she blushed her 
thanks in pinkish colors, while the ardent groom, 
awkward at reply, meekly stammered, “Oh, sah, how 
can I ever repay your goodness to my — my Pauline?” 

“Simplest thing in the world, my lad,” our com- 
panion replied. “Just you be good to this little girl 
that God has this day placed in your care.” 

“That I promise, sah, God being my everlasting 
witness.” 

“Grace be with you all. Amen, amen,” was the 
divine’s solemn response to their words and acts ; and 
then the old mother came forward and offered her 
blessing. At the opportune moment others of the com- 
pany filed past and congratulated the newly married 
couple, the whole being unaffected and impressive. 

The. lawyer arose, grasped the hand of his fellow- 
capitalist, looked searchingly down into the pellucid 
windows of his charitable soul, and thus unburdened 
his secret thoughts : “I know a man with a soul, I do 
not mean a spirit ; he’s big and strong, brave and bold ; 


228 


The Wedding 

not a saint — don’t believe it; yet I shall love him 
through eternity. Heaven bless his generous nature !” 

“That compliment is worth more than it cost,” 
exclaimed the speculator ; then raising his voice 
shrieked above the din, “I move the sentiment be 
adopted by acclamation.” The applause that followed 
brought the color of the red, red rose to the cheeks 
of the lawyer, and caused the Bostonian to blush like 
a maid over her first beau’s delicate praise. 

“Again amen. God bless the generous rich,” said 
the minister. 

“A song! a song!” was echoed round the room 
so loudly as to drown the conversation, and universal 
appeal was made to the groom to lead. 

“Please to sing one of your local ballads,” begged 
the travelers. 

“Oh, do, Woody, please; the one you composed,” 
pleaded the bride. 

“Good ! good !” shouted the throng in unison. 

MAKIN’ WAY FOR FARMIN’. 

I’ve been fellin’ trees an’ rollin’ 

The logs up in a heap, 

An’ makin’ rails an’ fencin’ 

An’ shearin’ of the sheep; 

A-thinkin’ about my sweetheart 
An ’cornin’ of the spring, 

When the birds will be a-matin’. 

An’ ’nen begin to sing. 

An’ my Sallie’s been a-workin’, 

At plantin’ in the rows 

The onion and the lettuce, 

An’ mendin’ of our clothes ; 


229 


Down in Arkansas 

A-thinkin’ about her lover 
An’ singin’ sorter low, 

A-wishin’ for the springtime, 

When things begin to grow. 

I’ve been cuttin’ wood and haulin’ 

An’ pilin’ in a pile, 

An’ makin’ way for farmin’, 

A-smilin’ all the while; 

An’ thinkin’ about my Sallie, 

A-wishin’ time’d fly, 

Because we ’spect to marry 
In springtime by and by. 

I’ve been gettin’ right for plantin’ 

Now, not so far away, 

An’ cuttin’ brush and burnin’, 

A-workin’ night and day; 

An’ my Sallie’s been a-helpin’ 

At pilin’ on the boughs, 

An’ tendin’ to the chickens, 

A-milkin’ of the cows. 

The song, bearing direct reference to the young 
people’s future, as well as past lives in the hills of 
Arkansas, touched the hearts of the travelers and they 
joined in the applause that ensued, as did the outsiders. 

“Beautiful sentiment,” said the Bostonian. 

“Splendidly rendered,” admitted the lawyer. 

“Just wait a few years, gentlemen,” the minister 
enthusiastically interposed, “until we have more 
churches and better schools, then you will hear from 
this section of the grand old State. We have splendid 
native talent and are going to produce great men and 
women in this healthful climate.” 

“God and liberty, schools and churches be thine, 
and may you be spared to these generous people, my 
dear and reverend sir,” said the Bostonian. 


230 


The Wedding 

A very much larger crowd had assembled than 
could be admitted to the house, or seated at the long 
rows of tables, but the good-humored young friends of 
the family considerately gave way to their elders and 
the travelers. The minister and groom sat down with 
the latter and all were freely helped to the fresh, brown 
doughnuts and sweet cider, white bread and cold 
turkey. During the time, refreshments were liberally 
passed round in the adjoining rooms, and on the out- 
side circulated among the men and boys. When the 
divine had declared enough, we arose and left the 
apartment in order that preparations for the dance 
might be made. Once on the outside, we were intro- 
duced to the gaunt musician, whose favorite instrument 
was a plow clevis, though he played others with equal 
skill. Despite the facts of his odd dress and clumsy 
figure, he was indeed clever of speech ; really what we 
had surmised, a droll fellow, full of good humor. The 
leader of the “orcestry,” consisting of a fiddler, ban joist 
and deviser, was now presented to our party, and the 
reader will doubtless believe me romancing again when 
told that this important personage was John C. Boone, 
youngest son of Colonel Nathan Boone, one of the 
loved pioneers and patriots of the Republic. Hence, 
like the youthful bridegroom, our orchestra leader was 
a descendant of a distinguished progenitor, which fact 
caused His Heavies to say, “he wouldn’t be surprised 
to meet a lineal descendant of St. Paul down here in the 
hills.” 

The lawyer laughed and said: “Why, you goose! 


231 


Down in Arkansas 

St. Paul was not married.” However, Spec got even 
with, “If that’s a fact, Phillips, it’s all the worse for 
the country; there should have been more saints and 
fewer kings, more preachers and fewer lawyers.” The 
attorney’s wit though spontaneous and sometimes 
severe, was not the kind that lingered for the last word, 
so we eagerly turned to Mr. Boone, and until called by 
the other musicians, he talked entertainingly, first of 
the customs, beliefs and traditions of the Hill Billy, and 
then of his own family. When quite a small boy, at 
the time living in St. Charles County, Missouri, he fre- 
quently went hunting with his distinguished grand- 
father, whom he remembered quite well, and had seen 
him kill a deer at long range with a rifle. 

Subsequently, I became well acquainted with 
Colonel John C. Boone and esteemed him for his noble 
character. He was pure of mind, scholarly, refined in 
taste; briefly stated a manly man, and generous to a 
fault. Like his grandfather he had been well to do, 
yet like the great Daniel again, He died a poor man, and 
is buried near Sulphur Springs, Benton County, in a 
grave unmarked by even a slab of stone. In looks, in 
principle, and in stature, he exemplified his illustrious 
grandsire, a Boone without a blemish. During the 
War of the Rebellion, he served four years, with the 
rank of colonel, on General Sterling Price’s staff, and 
devoted a fortune to the “Lost Cause.” Peace be with 
his ashes. 


232 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE HILL BILLY DANCE 

A Free and Easy Soiree 

A Hill Billy dude of first class moved through 
the crowd, repeating these words : “Ever’ thing’s in 
apple-pie order, fellers, the musikers ’bout ready to set 
’em together by ‘the heels’ in the dance. 

“Partners for a quadrille,” shouted the caller, caus- 
ing the outside loungers to rush indiscriminately for 
favored positions from which to witness the “hoe- 
down.” The Bostonian led out the bride for the first 
dance, their example being eagerly imitated by many 
spry Hill Billy couples. During the long continued 
tuning process, the dancers exchanged glances and 
grimaces, compliments and colloquy, and some of the 
gayer lads, wearing astronomical high-heeled boots, cut 
the “pigeon wing,” and other old-fashioned “didoes” 
on the corners, to the infinite delight of the smirking 
Sallies; the fiddler fumbled his fiddle and the banjo- 
banger banged his banjo, trying to get their stringed 
instruments strung to accord with the chordless clevis, 
while the deviser clinked and clanked his clevis, clev- 


233 


Down in Arkansas 

erly. This was an emotionel interlude for the sportive 
speculator. Crossing the room with little ambling 
steps, he bowed suavely to the Bostonian, who looked 
like a bouquet of patience and prosperity, standing 
among the mountain pinks, and scabious bachelor but- 
tons. Spec lined up along-side the “musician” with 
the “brilliant breeches,” and in broken Hill Billy 
queried: “Pretty dadgasted easy sort o’ goin’ juice 
harp, eh, Ring Bone?” 

“Well, I reckon,” the deviser replied, “like er houn' 
pup, mister.” 

“How’s that, Ring Bone?” 

“Allers in chune.” 

“Oh, ah !” 

A fiddle string snapped in twain so loud as to be 
heard over the room. “Last one,” ejaculated the fid- 
dler, looking puzzled. 

Ring Bone was on his feet in an instant, his big 
hands thrust into his trousers’ pockets, searching for 
treasure. While ransacking these unexplored jungles, 
he distorted his comical features at the merry crowd, 
whose every eye rested upon him. “I say, good peo- 
ple,” said he, “Why is ther fiddler there, Colonel Boone, 
like the ancient Jew?” 

Intelligence pounded away at the pun. 

“Wandering?” suggested the lawyer, smiling bland- 
ly. Ring Bone shook his massive head. 

“Sees no possible opportunity of deliverance,” the 
minister ventured doubtfully. Another negative move- 
ment of the head. 


234 


The Hill Billy Dance 

“Purty dadgasted good, fellers, but yer haint hit 
ther mark yit,” said Ring Bone, proudly, bringing 
forth a quantity of catgut. 

“Give it up, Ring, why was he like the Israelite?” 
Spec queried. 

“He war Sadducee.” 

Everybody was now in perfect good humor, and as 
well acquainted as if all were of one totem. The 
broken string was replaced by another from the dark 
recesses of Ring Bone’s wardrobe, and while the fiddler 
rosined his bow, the speculator sought a second inter- 
view with the “musician,” whose instrument was 
“allers in tune.” 

“Many dances down here, Ring?” 

“Right smart sprinkle.” 

“Attend purty reg’lar?” 

“Well, I should reckon.” 

“Good time?” 

“Bet yer life.” 

Zeute, zeute ; the bow tormenting the fiddle strings ; 
thripp, thripp; the banjo sounding; clink, clank; the 
clevis pin moving from side to side of the implement 
instrument. 

Music — angels of Paradise, listen — vivid and deli- 
cate to the ear ; extreme accuracy of perception, of con- 
struction ; dexterity of movement , ingenuity of execu- 
tion; subtility of touch, of nicety. Yea, the leader was 
a man of genius. “Natchez Under the Hill,” and the 
Hill Billies in the seventh heaven of veritable ecstacy. 

Natchez under a mountain could not have so moved 


235 


Down in Arkansas 

the underpinning of the standers-bv. Through all the 
swelling crowd there was restless movement of feet. 
Who could keep quiet ? Who be unmoved by such in- 
fluences? In a vacant corner of the room, our obese 
friend was “bucking and shuffling” like an Alabama 
coon, the venerable lawyer was wriggling and squirm- 
ing, and even the devout minister’s Prince Albert coat- 
tail fluttered uneasily, as if his hallowed heels threat- 
ened, in spite of well-regulated objections, “to hit the 
boards.” Now, above all the high drawn voice of the 
prompter was heard : “Han’s in yer pockets ; faces to 
the wall; take a chaw terbacker; balance all.” 

Strange as it may seem, these coarse lines with 
many another such, half sung and half spoken, are 
obeyed in quite a different way from what the words 
imply; the young couples proceeding in the dance with 
order and with grace. It is a mistake to suppose that 
the employment of this grotesque phraseology is for 
other purpose than raising a laugh. “Han’s in yer 
pockets,” means right hands to partners and so on 
through the quadrille. 

Only the figure or square dances are indulged in 
down here, and it is doubtful if in any other region of 
the United States, this form is so much enjoyed by its 
devotees. 

All through the set, the girls are repeatedly swung 
by the boys, who, according to individual fancy may 
perform the “Mobile buck,” “pigeon cooing,” “Cairo 
shifter,” “double shuffle,” and the like, on the cor- 
ners, with varying degrees of interest. The prompter, 


236 


The Hill Billy Dance 

usually a Hill Billy wag, oft repeats many ludicrous 
paragraphs in inimitable vernacular and style of de- 
livery. Instead of the conventional, “Salute your part- 
ners,” etc., he will cry out, “The night is dark, the hour 
is late; to arms, to arms, ye couples eight.” And ac- 
companying the music in sing-song tones repeats, 
Chase the rabbit, chase the squirrel, and chase your 
honey round the world ; four hands half, ladies do, and 
girls, you know, ladies put sugar in the coffee, oh !” 

One after another of favorite airs, such as “Old 
Gray Eagle,” “The Lancers,” “White Folks’ Favorite,” 
“Arkansas Traveler,” and similar rag-time composi- 
tions are played with untiring orchestral zeal. 

When the old Colonel drew the bow across his 
fiddle, of his own make, with a view to playing the 
“Arkansas Traveler” for the strangers; his shapely 
head reclining on the loved instrument, so as to detect 
the slightest intonations, the interest manifested in his 
princely figure was intense. It was as if the Muse her- 
sef, fully draped and perfumed, hovered over us. 
Never did mortal play with more pleasure or expres- 
sion, his gray eyes dilating, countenance beaming, lips 
moving in song, and his very soul enraptured with the 
incomparable strains. His touch was that of a master, 
and the old violin fairly pronounced the piece word by 
word ; the scenes it describes passing before our 
imagination like so many phantoms. To my readers 
who may believe this an extravagant picture, I have 
only to say that you never heard Colonel Boone play a 
fiddle. 


237 


Down in Arkansas 

“If you should render that music in the City of 
Brotherly Love, Colonel Boone, your fame and fortune 
would be assured,” said the Philadelphian. 

The grand old man modestly bowed his acknowl- 
edgments, saying: “I love the good people whose 
traditions gave rise to the extravagant story ; the com- 
position has long been a favorite with me.” 

“I have many times heard the selection,” the lawyer 
rejoined, “though not as you play it, and until now 
never felt its power.” 

“And I am pleased to say, Colonel,” said the Bos- 
tonian, “that your artistic interpretation touched my 
every sensibility.” 

“It got its work in under my vest too, boys, and I 
feel as if I loved everybody in Arkansas to-night,” the 
speculator declared. 

“Amen, amen,” repeated the minister, and then the 
whole party engaged in hand-shaking, as if it were 
a religious revival. Smilingly, benignly, the old Con- 
federate officer said : “Such agencies oft bring men 
more closely together.” 

“Expands our souls, as it were,” said the Bostonian. 

“By lifting us spiritually above our sordid natures,” 
the minister interposed. 

“It is therefore by breadth of soul that one man 
may be more potent for good than another,” was the 
Confederate’s observation. 

“Precisely true ; you are a thinker, as well as a musi- 
cian, Colonel Boone,” said the lawyer. 

The music had ceased; the dancers dispersed, and 

238 


The Hill Billy Dance 

silence, other than the conversational tones, was pre- 
dominant within. At the moment a strong light glared 
through the windows. Glancing without, we saw in- 
numerable bonfires scattered round over the lawn. 
Within a brief time, the most excruciating nocturnal 
sounds that ever aroused and prolonged human fears 
or grated upon human ears rushed in from every side 
and corner of the old tavern. The rattle of windows, 
clapping of boards, beating of pans, ringing of bells, 
blasts of horns, howling of dogs, yelling of men and 
boys and kindred sounds, all set loosely together, and 
blending into one continuous hodge-podge of rasping 
jars, compared to which torrid Gehenna would seem 
as noiseless as the foot of time. 

“What in the name of St. Peter bedevils us now ?” 
wailed the speculator, from the roof of his thirteen- 
story voice. 

The travelers looked wistfully, first at the minister, 
then at the musicians. A smile with as many wrinkles 
in it as a washboard spread over the Colonel’s face, 
while he wrote something on a piece of cardboard, 
then held it up for our inspection: “Cheveree,” and 
the one word explained it all. We were glad he had 
drawn on the upper case, since the big letters were 
more expressive of the uproar. Falling back into our 
seats, we listened long to all the striking, pounding, 
mauling, thwacking, bellowing, braying noises that the 
ingenuity of the untutored ranter of the hills could 
invent. 

The Hill Billies laughed until their sides were sore, 


239 


Down in Arkansas 

and the travelers, after due consideration, let all holds 
go and plunged into the enjoyment of the thing with 
avidity. 

Thus closed the revelry in the “wilds of Arkansaw,” 
an occasion long to be remembered by the strangers. 

Leave-taking, hand-shaking, and many farewells 
and good-bye-God-bless-vous were pronounced. Soon 
all were gone out into the black night, out into the big 
world to meet no more forever, perhaps. 

At noon on the day following, we arose and, after a 
sumptuous dinner with the bride and bridegroom, 
mother and sister, put off to Pork Optic, otherwise 
Hog Eye, the mountain metropolis. 

“Good-bye, good-bye,” said the young couple, the 
mother and daughter. We could only say “good-bye” 
in return. 

“Good-bye ;” how much it may mean, slowly and 
solemnly repeated as we drove hurriedly away. 

“Some more good people, coming unannounced into 
our lives, have unbidden gone out, soon to be wrapped 
in the winding sheet of forgetfulness,” said the Bos- 
tonian. 

“Ah, truly,” was the lawyer’s comment. “Nothing 
is a fixture in this life; nothing sure but death, and 
nothing eternal but change.” 

Then, as if in very mockery, the big booby, looking 
into the tear-stained eyes of the Bostonian, profaned 
the juncture of events, with: “Maids of mountains, 
ere we sep, give, oh, give me back my rep.” 


240 


CHAPTER XXV 


EN ROUTE TO HOG EYE 

Politics in Seventy-Four 

Up, up, up! Slowly trudging over pine-crested 
bills, rising one above another like blended stars in the 
dairy district of heaven’s archway, with Rich Moun- 
tain high above them all, far to westward, the travelers 
looked longingly back on Hellen, yet lying so close in 
the little vale of the Caddo that stones could almost be 
cast on the roofs below. 

Meeting at the confluence of hope and enthusiasm, 
the travelers were never more cheery of mind, and 
while the mules labored on, discussed many subjects 
with calmness and judgment. 

“Only to think of these plain mountain people liv- 
ing here in seclusion, clinging to the customs of long 
ago. From such an existence excuse me,” declared His 
Heavies, who though he tried to be a good animal, oft 
lapsed into uncharitable moods. 

“As for me,” said the reformed aristocrat, “their 
lives appear to be eminently respectable and, in many 
ways, superior to what is seen among the so-called 


241 


Down in Arkansas 

higher classes of other sections. Jesus said: ‘A new 
commandment I give unto you, that ye love one 
another/ and these simple folk have taken the lesson 
to heart. They know that kindness is the bulwark of 
their happiness, that love is true righteousness. Plain 
and unassuming though they be, they are generous, 
merciful, and sincere. If I may express mild and can- 
did judgment of others, I believe it would be difficult 
to find a hypocrite among them.” 

“Hypocrite,” the lawyer repeated with sour sever- 
ity. “Why, hypocrisy was never an elementary princi- 
ple. It has been a thing of growth, of necessity we may 
say. Down here a man may be respected whether he 
keeps all the commandments or only the one you name. 
But out in the busy world very different conditions pre- 
vail, and had we not appeared to be other than our true 
selves, I fear we should not have prospered. A certain 
young man of great wealth and eminent family, loved 
with all the fire of youth, a poor and unknown though 
beautiful girl, who returned his love passion, measure 
for measure. Being much of the time alone together, 
they gradually drew each other into error, resulting, of 
course, in her ruin. Persuaded by powerful relatives, 
he subsequently neglected her and their child, which 
facts became notorious. However, leading the life of a 
pretender, he continued for several years to move in the 
so-called high circles of society, and, wonderful to re- 
late, was received with marked external respect, if not 
as a general favorite. And thus did a phenomenal little 
world applaud the hypocrite. But there came a day, 


En Route to Hog Eye 

when, seeking immunity from a guilty conscience, he 
went to her whom he had so deeply wronged and on 
bended knee declared his love anew, begging that he 
might undo as best he could, the awful past. In the 
course of time, his honest earnestness prevailed, and 
they were publicly married. Then, alas ! that same little 
world turned its indignant back upon the man.” 

“But, bless God,” said the Bostonian, “he had made 
peace on earth for her, poor thing, and for himself 
here and hereafter, which is worth more to a sin-sick 
soul than the plaudits of kings or the possessions of 
worlds.” 

“Yet, argues that to be other than a hypocrite, in 
certain localities and under some circumstances, is to 
be publicly egged by the pretenders’ protective associa- 
tion,” contended the cynic. 

“’Tis great, ’tis manly, to disdain disguise,” quoted 
the other. 

“Admirable, certainly, is the true gentleman ; noble 
he who tries to be one, yet show me the finished photo 
of him who dares to defy fixed social or religious 
opinions, and I will show you a true reformer,” said 
the lawyer. 

Spec appeared to regard the subject as personal or 
insinuating, and interrupted the speaker, thus : “Well, 
one who has money to burn, may cover his evil deeds 
in smoke, and for the simple sake of sincerity, I 
shouldn’t care to live where people’s blood barely cir- 
culates, where speculation is unknown, and financially 
all are blank failures.” 


243 


Down in Arkansas 

“Many who make such failures here below, may 
the better succeed in the hereafter,” our Boston friend 
replied. 

“But long as we don’t come back, why not improve 
the now in getting all we can and in canning all we 
get ?” 

“The world is ours to-day, Spec, to-morrow ’twill 
belong to others. Therefore life is too precious a 
thing for mistakes, misdeeds or neglected oppor- 
tunities.” 

“Just so I believe and shall endeavor to make my 
Jack — a span of them — while permitted to do business 
down here on the destructive plan. Financial success 
above all others elevates the mind of a people, there- 
fore, is to be desired above all others. Money we must 
have; the larger the quantity the better. Individual 
success is to be desired at any sacrifice. 

The capitalists held up their hands, expressive of 
objection, and the lawyer said : “Spec, your assertion 
is valuable only as a suggestion. True, a community 
becomes prosperous proportionately with individual 
effort. Public and private accumulation, however, de- 
pend on the profitable exchange of commodities. 
Therefore, though wealthy men deny the fact, large 
fortunes are quite as much a result of luck as are the 
color of one’s eyes. If in the right place at the right 
time, a fool even may get rich.” 

“Pshaw!” ejaculated the Bostonian, “the ambition 
to be rich is unworthy the importance he gives it ; suc- 
cessful lives may be judged by no such standard. It 


244. 


En Route to Hog Eye 

is a mistake to accumulate, for the sake of hoarding, 
that which neither serves us here, nor benefits our 
successors.” 

“Truly, am I not concerned as to the hereafter; of 
the future, let the future take care. Nor am I inter- 
ested in ‘our successors ! ” 

“And yet they shall be indebted to us in so far as 
we may leave a more nearly perfected world, man’s 
true earthly inheritance. As to life eternal, we shall as 
surely go hence with identity, as we came here with it, 
and with that increased degree to which we have led 
pure lives.” 

“Why die at all, if so soon to live again ?” 

“We were born, to die is to be born again. Life 
hereafter shall seem less wonderful even than life here.” 

The cynic’s hybridized smile intervened. “Respect- 
ing the point at issue between you, permit me to say, 
that an infant at its mother’s breast knows as much 
as the sage at his study. To the people of no age has 
power been given to lift the veil from man’s future 
life, the very existence of which may be questioned. 
What is must be accepted, neither faith nor hope can 
change a fact, and I know no cause greater than the 
brotherhood of man.” 

“Yea, the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood 
of man,” exclaimed the Bostonian, and referring to the 
lawyer’s questionable utterances, argued : “But Nature 
certainly creates no desire that may not be gratified 
with liberal largeness.” 

“There let the matter rest,” said the attorney. “As 


245 


Down in Arkansas 

to the problem of human life, it is best solved by those 
who live for the good they may do. Only the good are 
repaid for the effort of living. The criminal class get 
absolutely nothing out of this existence. And, as for 
a standard of advantageous termination of life here, 
I should say that successful in a marked degree have 
been all parents’ lives whose children were properly 
brought up, though no other inheritance be left them. 
The couple who reared a good wife for another’s son, 
or a true husband for another’s daughter, has probably 
done as much for the world as a financier or an 
author.” 

“If that’s a fact,” said Spec, whose mind just then 
returned from a besotted furlough, “I know a man at 
Kansas City that is greater than a Clark or a Kipling. 
He’s a butcher, came from Arkansas, and has thirteen 
marriageable daughters, an ’s poor as a Hill Billy. 
When largely in debt and greatly worried, I used to 
think of the poor devil nights, turn over and go to 
sleep. Gracious, goodness, only think of a baker’s 
dozen of sons-in-law as a reward for a life’s efforts! 
‘ Successors / who-ee ! oh, call them by some other name, 
that of sons-in-law seems too tame.” 

The capitalist laughed boisterously, the mules 
pricked up their ears and stretched the stay chains. 
Then many good stories succeeded each other, the fol- 
lowing," greatly modified because of its details being 
too strong for a place in this tale, elicited hearty 
applause : 

A couple of politicians, one an ardent Democrat, 
246 


En Route to Hog Eye 

the other a strenuous Republican, distinguished alike 
for native wit and oratory, were en route to a back- 
woods district where they had been liberally advertised 
to hold a joint debate on the political issues of the day. 
More for the sake of economy than any love they bore 
each other, they had arranged to ride over the lonely 
mountain roads together. When well on the way, the 
latter, with motive earnestness, thus addressed his 
adversary : “Look here, my friend, I am a pretty strong 
advocate of Republican principles, and when warmed 
up to my subject say some hard things about the Demo- 
cratic party, and now that I have formed a favorable 
opinion of yourself, I trust that you will take no offence 
at what I may utter before these mountain people, in 
the heat of the debate.” 

Replying, the Democrat explained that he too, was 
a staunch supporter of his political faith, and when “hot 
under the collar” would likely make assertions deroga- 
tory to Republicanism, and hoped his newly made 
friend would take the same generous view of what- 
ever vituperation might creep into the discourse. 

This all happened when the “bloody shirt” was still 
a factor in politics, and the good people of Arkansas 
had not fully recovered from the animosities engen- 
dered by reconstruction rule in the State. 

Ever alert for advantage, the Republican observed 
that his opponent had lost three fingers from his right 
hand, and quick-wittedly resolved to use the discovery 
to put the laugh upon him. The Democrat also busied 
himself with adroit attempts at learning something of 


247 


Down in Arkansas 

his adversary’s war record, noting the fact that he had 
accompanied General Sherman on his ever memorable 
march to the sea. 

Thus prepared these advocates rode along, enjoying 
the scenery and song of birds, each placid as the waters 
that trickled down the mountain streams. 

The hour for the duel of words arrived ; the Repub- 
lican first took the platform, cheered to the echo, and 
for full two hours, arguing with the power and elo- 
quence of a Blaine, completely swayed the vast audi- 
ence. Now re-urging the principal topics of his dis- 
course, his countenance fairly radiant, his big eyes 
scintillating and his enthusiasm kindling to a blaze, 
firing the hearts of his hearers, he raised his voice to 
a higher key, and turning with lion-like ferocity upon 
his opponent, said: “And, fellow citizens, during the 
great struggle of the Civil War, when the flag of our 
country was being torn into shreds and ignominously 
trodden in the dust, zvhere I ask ; where I beg, beseech, 
and implore; where , I demand, was he?” (Pointing 
his finger at the Democrat.) A moment of profound 
and awful silence ensued, and then with gentle, confid- 
ing tones and lachrymose, dramatic effect, the powerful 
oration was concluded with : “I shall undertake to an- 
swer for my silent antagonist, my beloved fellow citi- 
zens. He, proud owner of a plantation in the Arkansas 
bottoms, purchased with money accumulated while the 
war was on, during the mighty struggle of brother 
against brother, he who will to-day succeed me on this 
platform, representing the dead doctrines of hopeless 

248 


En Route to Hog Eye 

Democracy, remained at home, and in order to evade 
the Confederate draft, had three fingers amputated. 
Get up, sir, and show your hand!” With which the 
orator slowly retreated to the rear, amid the deafening 
shouts of his admirers. 

In size and voice, oddly contrasting with his more 
powerful opponent, the little Democrat came forward, 
holding his maimed hand on high, and when the 
plaudits ceased, began his address : “Gentlemen,” said 
he in all but effeminate tones, “at best I was never a 
strong man, and having had little sympathy with the 
war spirit that spread over the country, threatening our 
incomparable Union with disruption, and rather than 
go on the field of battle to slay my fellow man for so 
much per month, remained at home, and with this stub 
of a hand, maimed in a cotton gin prior to hostilities, 
did all I could toward the support of widows and 
orphans of my fallen Confederate friends.” 

There arose a cheer on the Democratic side, and 
many voices cried out, “That’s so,” “That’s hit,” “Yer 
right,” “Give ’em ’el, Jim,” etc. Resuming, the speaker 
in the same sad voice said : “I wish to say further, my 
friends, that being in no way responsible for the terri- 
ble strife of brother against brother, then as now, I had 
naught other than charity for all ; and now as then, I 
bear malice toward no man, be he white or black, red 
or brown, Republican or Democrat.” Over this out- 
burst of patriotism both sides of the house joined in a 
restless swelling tumult, following which the speech 
was closed in these words : “Now, my friends, during 


249 


Down in Arkansas 

the mighty struggle when this country’s adored flag 
was being torn down and trailed in the dust, so elo- 
quently portrayed by useless and excessive discharges 
of bluster, ‘whar,’ I repeat his words, ‘whar’ was this 
proud possessor of a pension and a post office ? ‘Whar’ 
I demand, was he who did so much, looking to the sup- 
pression of the rebellion? I will tell you, my friends, 
and fellow citizens, that he, bucked and gagged, and in 
the rear ranks of Sherman’s army, was branded on the 
bare back of his neck with the letter ‘D’ for desertion. 
Get up, sak, and show yer battle scars !” 

The effect on the great throng of Hill Billies may 
be easily imagined. All present repaired to an apple 
jack distillery and over their brandy raised a truce 
which lasts to this time. 


250 


CHAPTER XXVI 


A SURPRISE BY THE WAYSIDE 

Hog Eye 

An oversized Hill Billy, who proved to be landlord 
Green’s townsman, borne upon the back of an under- 
sized mule, came out of the brush into our trail and 
with a look of surprise, greeted us familiarly. 

“Been to mill, eh, Doc?” queried the speculator, 
eying the well-filled grain bag, strapped to his Hill- 
ship’s saddle. 

“Not ezzactly, fellers.” 

“What have you in the sack, Doc?” 

The druggist hesitated, looked carefully around 
and lowering his voice, said : “Well, know’n yer’e 
all right an’ straight, I own up ter havin’ er few gal- 
lons o’ somethin’ that’s full o’ poetry, music, an’ song.” 

“An’ where did you get ’er, Doc? We have an 
empty demijohn,” declared Spec. 

“Jus’ go down ther trail, till yer cum to er slim, 
slick, sycamore saplin’ on ther mountainside layin’ by 
er maul; put yer jug an’ money down thar, hit ther 
log with ther maul, three times, light like; once hard, 


251 


Down in Arkansas 

an’ twice sorter middlin’, then git busy er gittin’ away. 
An’ mind ye now : come back here, set round fer half 
hour, an’ nen go down thar agin’ an’ git yer stuff.” 

So saying he rode away. 

“The gains worth the pains,” said Spec, and grab- 
bing the demijohn, put off down the winding trail. 

“See anybody down thar, Spec ?” we inquired, when 
the speculator returned with face flushed, panting for 
breath. 

“Neither saint nor sinner ; all was still as the devil’s 
tread.” 

At the expiration of the allotted time we heard one, 
two, three, four, five taps in rapid succession ; the first 
heavy and resounding, then lighter to a close, not un- 
like the woodpecker’s tattoo. 

“The deal’s closed,” said Spec, “and I’ll bet we have 
secured a bargain,” again putting off. 

Others of the party sat silently watching the mo- 
ments come and go, listening to the wind, now singing 
mournfully through the pine needles overhead, and 
then rising higher, rolling on over the grand, impres- 
sive forest. 

Away to the northward we heard the blasts of horns 
and soon the bay of hounds. Nearer and nearer, borne 
upon every slight breeze, rose the thrilling musical 
sounds.* “The chase, the chase!” exclaimed our legal 
friend. Our interest was strained to a high degree till 
a big male deer, with long, pointed antlers, closely pur- 
sued by the dogs, bounded across the trail, so near as 
to frighten the mules, and in the timber beyond, was 


252 


A Surprise by the Wayside 

quickly out of sight. In a brief time the grim horse- 
men rushed by, and some minutes later rifle-shots were 
heard in the direction all were going. Doubtless, some- 
body had venison for supper. 

With the team reinvigorated, and a demijohn re- 
plenished, we proceeded on our journey. 

Afar down a valley, and coming round a bend, we 
heard engines whistle and saw their smoke ascend o’er 
a train of box cars thundering into view ; then took a 
peep at Hog Eye, and drink of “mountain dew,” which, 
declared His Heavies, with his face all awry, “is made 
of creosote and concentrated lye.” 

At Kansas City, a bright young schemer, who pos- 
sessed all the attributes of the modern “promoter,” 
“yaller leggins,” and a bird dog included, informed us 
that, “owing to its advantageous location” and influence 
of his “syndicate,” Hog Eye would take rank with the 
very first cities on the new road, and advised us, sub 
rosa, to invest heavily in vacant property. Here then 
was the chance for our speculative companion, the 
lots being still cheap and terms to suit purchaser. 
When the “Future Great” of the lumber districts shall 
prove the paragon of Joplin, for instance, whose Jack- 
aristocracy receive fabulous sums for small strips of 
ground, there’ll be millions in it. Spec became en- 
thused, and told about a time when “for an old gray 
mare” he could have owned the forty acres on which 
stands the Union Station at Kansas City. 

“Why did you not buy it ?” queried a companion. 

“Well, I hadn’t the old gray mare,” said he. “In 


253 


Down in Arkansas 

them days my wife’s pa owned pretty much all we now 
have, including the old gray mare.” 

“Your explanation is entirely satisfactory,” admit- 
ted the lawyer, with rising inflection. “Some men are 
born to dream, some have dreams thrust upon them.” 

Spec had figured this new deal out to a nicety — all 
promoters do the same — and with ornamental, oral 
flourish, presented it to the capitalists. He would in- 
vest at Pork Optic, “hit or miss,” provided his moneyed 
companions would make a “first payment on a block of 
lots.” But Spec’s theory that a “sucker” is born every 
minute, didn’t apply locally ; the capitalists refusing to 
make the loan on prospects as a base of security. 

We had been told that the new town was situated in 
the heart of a fertile valley, “ten miles wide,” and that 
the great area of productive soil was already peopled 
by an industrious lot of Yankees, who were success- 
fully growing all farm products known to thrive from 
Cape Cod to the Brazos River. However, truth impels 
the assertion, that this is not a land of broad valleys nor 
alluvial plains. When old Miss Nature carried on her 
interchange of hill and dale, this region seems to have 
humped itself and its convex elevation has made little 
change since that remote date. In all our travels, sub- 
sequent ,to leaving the valley of the Arkansas, we had 
not seen enough level land to make a strip ten miles 
long and a hundred yards wide. In the entire Ozark 
country there is not a Tigris, Nile, or Euphrates, and 
the combined dales, gulches, and glens of all the 
streams would not make a Pecos Valley. Compara- 


254 


A Surprise by the Wayside 

tively, so much as a Quartas or Pintos Vale could 
scarce be found in the Fousche La Fave Mountains, 
which are said to belong to the Ozark group. Yet, 
notwithstanding this seeming slight of nature, there 
are few richer sections on the globe, all things taken 
into account. Especially is this true of Southwest 
Missouri and Northwest Arkansas, the jeweled twin 
sisters of the Ozarks. 

We were now approaching the timber-skirted city 
over the very trail, perhaps, where Gabriel, son of the 
blacksmith, forged through the forest when trading 
beaver skins for Spanish mules. According to local 
report beaver were then more plentiful than mules, and 
almost as large as the Spanish sort of donkey. And, it 
is presumed, therefore, that young Gabriel’s transac- 
tions in the locality were profitable and satisfactory. 
But how different are conditions in this day and time ; 
change, that eternal mill of the gods, has exterminated 
the industrious beaver and supplanted the shiftless 
Spaniard with the procreative Hill Billy, who is an 
habitual and unqualified success as a swapper, his quali- 
fication reaching the zenith of proficiency in a horse 
trade. His Hillship desires no other education, and 
requires no other capital to start in life. At a tender 
age he sallies forth with only a halter “to skin the new 
comers” and, as a result of his first lesson, usually re- 
turns with a saddle pony, the foundation of his ultimate 
fortune. Ordinarily he has a spanking team, wagon 
and harness by the time his majority is reached, when, 
if not earlier, he marries his second cousin and settles 


255 


Down in Arkansas 

down to “hoss swapping” and farming on a vacant hill- 
side adjoining the home place. 

The landscape round about was disappointing, 
though evidently no part of it had escaped. Even the 
fruitful ten-miles-wide-valley was closely studded with 
hills, and, in that they detracted from the boasted area, 
resembled the variolous pustules on a fair face. Not- 
withstanding the glowing descriptions we had heard 
of the locality, the only object recognized was the old, 
familiar sun, now sinking behind a mountain as big 
as Rhode Island, on the opposite side of the Hill Billy 
City, which proved to be an unusual sort of a place. 
Its suburbs, strewn with sin and dog fennel, continued 
right along as we advanced toward its focal point, and 
probably stuck out at the farther end. We were not 
so favorably impressed with the size, as with the length 
of the town, which, strung along the railroad track, was 
out of all proportion. However, there was little doubt 
that large numbers of people were flocking here, and 
“soon or late,” as the town site agent expressed it, “she 
would spread ’erself.” Considering her longitudinal 
dimensions, such seemed the proper caper for her to 
cut. Characterized by circumscription, it was town for 
a couple of miles up and down the road and very much 
in the .country a few hundred yards away in contrary 
directions. With its “goose neck” and “cracker end,” 
String Town would have been more descriptive than 
either Hog Eye or Pork Optic. 

A new town, like a new country, draws heavily on 
the failures of older communities. Here were th°se 


256 


A Surprise by the Wayside 

who had been unsuccessful in business ventures else- 
where, men who had been prominent in politics and 
various other callings. Even some who had been in 
penitentiaries, and judged by their present employ- 
ment, there were many others who should be taken care 
of by the State. Saloons and dance houses lined the 
walks and gamblers and hill hags, rolling in lucre, like 
pigs in mud, bold, bad and defiant, made night hideous 
with the false gods’ own especial variety of impiety. 

Among this teeming mass of hapless humanity was 
one who, through false 'pretense, getting into my debt, 
generously helped me to quit the drygoods business in 
a northern county some time before. A fine-grained, 
flint-like character, vain, self-confident, impertinent and 
talkative; prompt with promises, punctual with apol- 
ogies, and splendidly indifferent ; a naturalized Hill 
Billy and natural-born liar, he skimmed, skinned, and 
skipped with silence and secrecy. Dunning himself, 
he said, “Fm er good, square feller, ole man, an’ll strike 
it rich some day.” Recalling his unpaid account, I 
interposed, and tried to save him with a sad sort of 
sixty-dollar smile, but his falsehood struggled to the 
surface and sat squarely down on dissenting opinion. 
“An’ when I do, ole man,” he resumed, “ye bet yer 
life I’ll ” 

“Keep every cent of it,” said I, with far-away look. 

“Yes, fur you,” he rejoined, and walked away. 

Another abnormal human specimen, a Chinaman, 
whose face looked as old as the moon, but who ap- 
peared otherwise to be about half-grown, loitering 
round the station, attracted the travelers’ attention. 

257 


Down in Arkansas 

“May I ask, John,” queried the speculator, “if you 
came to locate?” 

“Ee oo,” was the reply. 

“That’s Shanghai, an’ means oh, no,” said Spec, 
with a Dockery wink. 

“Townee too smallee,” quoth the Chinaman. “He 
is too smallee also,” said the lawyer, turning aside, 
“and there’s another difficult problem: Why does the 
Celestial’s hair persist in growing out instead of in? 
He does everything else backward.” 

Just then the train drew up to the platform, and 
the town-site agent came aboard to say good-by. “If 
that ten-mile valley gets any wider, and your city’s 
parts become expanded, wire us, prepaid,” shouted the 
speculator, as we were borne away toward old 
Missouri. 


258 


CHAPTER XXVII 


MEETING THE DETECTIVE 

Under a Cloud 

The moon slowly trailing after the sun, came up 
in the east, looking red and angry, and, watching it 
from the open car windows, we wondered if a tragedy 
had occurred at the cave back in the mountains. 

No sooner had the train left the station, than the 
travelers betook themselves to the washroom of the 
Pullman and indulged in a needed clean-up. The 
porter was given fifty cents, and instructed to go for- 
ward to the baggage-car for our luggage, and return- 
ing, reported “no sich aboard.” Hurried investiga- 
tion revealed the fact that in the rush of business at 
the Lumber City, these belongings had been carefully 
overlooked by the “hustler,” whose duty it was to look 
after such matters, and left on the platform. The cap- 
italists were in a sad plight; their tailor-made suits, 
soiled and bagging, hung about them in ungraceful 
folds, and their immaculate shirts, collars, and cuffs, 
worn on the overland journey, had become so smeared 
with Arkansas real estate as to render former color 


259 


Down in Arkansas 


and texture invisible. The speculator, more accus- 
tomed to camp-life, had provided himself with a coarse 
woolen overshirt and a suit of mouse-colored cordu- 
roy, which defied the mountain sands to mar, and 
closely competed with the pestiferous pole-cat in the 
matter of noxious odors. Imitating the Hill Billy’s 
low, guttural laugh, Spec looked at our scowling mil- 
lionaire companions, saying: “Misfortune humiliates 
and levels all rank; ho! ho! ho!” 

“An allusion quite as offensive, in a way, as is 
your corduroy suit,” was the Bostonian’s retort. 

“We might endure his diffident hints,” said the 
lawyer, “only that that rasping, two-story laugh, with 
its damp, rum-soaked basement, is enough to give us 
pneumonia.” 

“Too bad, it can’t give you new clothes instead,” 
Spec replied, and then placidly hummed a few lines of 
a new favorite tune: 

“My pretty little girl in Arkansaw, 

Can chaw more gum than ’er maw can chaw, 

An’ saw more wood than ’er paw could saw.” 

The train was speeding northward at the rate of 
twenty-five miles an hour, and the rattle and bang of 
at least two hundred, so modifying the singer’s tender, 
trembling voice, that his throbbing verse became in- 
audible, causing the loss of much strange lore. 

The travellers submitted their footwear to the smil- 
ing porter, a sort of new negro, who put on what he 
termed “er Hill Billy brilliant,” and thus toned up, the 
capitalists looked as if they would be pleased to under- 


260 


Meeting the Detective 

write a southwestern enterprise for large sums ; and 
Spec was ready, willing, and anxious to name the 
scheme. 

“Lookin’ mighty fine, hain’t yer, boss ?” questioned 
the porter, addressing the speculator. “Han’some 
getiman, sho; capitalist, I specs, from Kansas City?” 
The eastern gentlemen exchanged glances, clasped 
hands, and embraced, laughing until their cheeks glis- 
tened with eye-offending brine. To the ordinary ob- 
server, there was no point to their gayety, still they 
roared with perfect agreement and accord, and there 
was a millionaire chime to their ha-has, that drowned 
the “Devil’s goin’ to git ye, devil’s goin’ to git ye, 
devil’s goin’ to get ye,” of car wheels scolding the 
rails. 

“Laugh, fools, and grow fat,” stammered Spec, 
deigning not to notice the porter’s flattery, and when 
his companions ceased for breath, demanded to know 
“what in thunder” they were laughing at. 

“Oh, you blockhead,” the lawyer shouted ; “the very 
idea of a capitalist from Kansas City. That’s good; 
it’s excruciating, the best joke of our trip. I’ll tell 
it on ’Change ; ’twill close the pits. Ha ! ha ! ha !” 

“What, blame it all ! No capitalists at Kansas 
City?” yelled the speculator, half-angrily, and all his 
pride of location was on exhibition in his manner and 
looks. “Say, what do you fellows take us for?” 

“Well, to be perfectly frank, Mr. Get-there-if-you- 
can, you are the largest borrowers of eastern money, 
and the promptest interest payers west of Chicago,” 


Down in Arkansas 

said the Bostonian; then, turning to me, concluded 
with : “Let’s see, Billv, what was your definition of a 
capitalist ?” 

“A person who has something.” 

“And a speculator?” he rejoined. 

“One who wants something.” 

“There, Spec, proud monarch of all you borrow, 
you have the key to the situation ; think it over at your 
leisure,” said our Boston friend. The bit of truth 
pleased the speculator, and joining in the prevailing 
good humor, he loudly sang : 

“When I was young I fell in love 
With a pretty girl, of course, 

Whose father was a widower, 

And whose mother got divorce. 

So by and by I married her, 

Then settled down on the Kaw, 

And when I failed to turn a trump. 

She, too, went to law.” 

“Personal experience, Spec?” queried the lawyer. 

“By no means, your honor, I have a helpmeet 
that ” 

“That helps meet the bills, eh,” the attorney inter- 
rupted. 

“To say the least, the song bears strong allusion to 
his locality,” the Bostonian remarked. 

“And a divorce mill would thrive at the ‘Hub,’ ” 
said Spec. “Your people, as a whole, should be di- 
vorced from the bean habit, and the idea that you are 
IT. However, I very much doubt if an edict of the 
creator would change either your habits or ideas.” 


262 


Meeting the Detective 

Everybody laughed except the porter, who stood in 
open-mouthed wonderment, the “point” failing to pen- 
etrate his wooly cranium. “If dis injuvigual done gone 
an’ made er remark dat cause all di ’joyment, ye can 
toss ’im er quarter, sahs,” said he, wistfully addressing 
the travelers. 

Another half-dollar was thrust into his open palm, 
twenty-five cents for his quick, good-natured wit, and 
the balance for his strange lack of penetration, a para- 
doxical assertion, admittedly, and to none other so 
applicable as to the modern citizen of African extrac- 
tion. Notwithstanding his apparent lack of power to 
grasp certain intellectual propositions readily, he 
seems ever alert with exhilarant spirits to turn stupidity 
to profitable account. Some white folks, usually poli- 
ticians, do the same thing, though on a larger scale, 
of course. 

“Tank ye, boss,” had said the porter, on grasping 
the silver piece, which was pressed to his scarlet lips, 
and then, with a crap-shooting movement, tossed it into 
the air. Ducking his head, and opening his big mouth, 
he caught it on the end of his tongue, with which organ, 
owing to its great length and flaming color, he could as 
easily have flagged a train. 

The long-drawn whoo-oo-oo-oo tug-boat whistle 
of the locomotive announced another station, and al- 
though the mahogany shade of a thickening sky and 
late evening darkened the surroundings, we could still 
discern the gray rocks and cheerless mountains from 
which had been removed the ling-colored pine. 


263 


Down in Arkansas 

About the little yellow station building was con- 
gregated an unusually large crowd of Hill Billies, and 
thrusting his head out of the car window, Spec ad- 
dressed a tall, lantern-jawed “Haweater” with: “I say, 
there, stranger, how many people live in this town, 
anyway ?” 

“ ’Bout twenty thousan’, I reckon,” and the fellow 
neither looked up nor smiled. The crowd evinced its 
appreciation of the brief dialogue by expulsions of son- 
orous, chuckling sounds. There was the laugh of the 
educated Bostonian, metallic ring of the millionaire 
lawyer, confidential ha-has of the train crew, restrained 
titter of an old maid, and simpering te-hes of a bashful 
bride, blending with the coarse guttural ho-hos of the 
Hill Billies, into a sort of musical farce. 

When the merriment subsided, our inquisitive com- 
panion, anxious to restore his damaged reputation, or 
convince the gaunt wag of his vain conceits, approached 
the subject in a modified voice, thus : “How many did 
I understand you to say resided here, my good man?” 

“Twenty thousan’, sah; no deaths nor births since 
last report.” 

Of course the crowd encouraged the buffoon, and 
realizing that all sympathy was with the other fellow, 
Spec meekly desisted. 

“A familiar voice was that,” the lawyer declared, 
staring at the wag, who turned round and faced us. 

“Ring Bone, by Jupiter!” a companion ejaculated. 

“Come here, you scamp,” another exclaimed, and 
the pride of the clevis came forward, held out his big 
hand, receiving the travelers’ congratulations. 

264 


Meeting the Detective 

“Dance here to-night, Ring Bone?” queried the 
Bostonian. 

“Well, hardly, I reckon; heard o’ none,” was the 
reply. 

At that instant, the conductor passed through our 
car, and with that mysterious air of railroad men said : 
“Laid out here ; trouble up the line.” 

“What is the nature of the annoyance ?” begged our 
fat friend, but the conductor only answered with a 
cash-fare smile, and with his lantern signaled the en- 
gineer, who backed the train down beyond the switch- 
light and pulled onto a double streak of rust. Express- 
ing his disappointment, the speculator used a rounded 
mass of fault-finding adjectives, seasoned with mild 
profanity : “What in the devil’s the matter, think you ?” 

“Washout, holdup, or maybe a carload of receivers 
have right of track,” the lawyer ventured. 

“Come off thar, fellers,” demanded a strong voice. 
Looking out we saw Ring Bone approaching from 
under the station-lights, beckoning with his big hand. 
“Come off an’ see ther prisoners.” 

“Prisoners; who are prisoners, Ring Bone?” 

“Moonshiners, sixteen uv ’em, countin’ a woman 
an’ boy, an’ all huddled together like partridges in er 
storm, over thar in the deepo’.” 

The travelers exchanged knowing glances, and 
arose to leave the car, whispering among themselves 
as they filed out : “I’ll bet a coonskin Lulu Cazan has 
made a successful raid.” 

“Bill Brown, you mean.” 

265 


Down in Arkansas 

“Or Four Times Fourteen.” 

“Heron Robert is at the bottom of the affair, you 
may depend.” We hurried to the platform, joined 
Ring Bone, and he piloted us through the crowd to the 
freight room, where, other than guards, there were 
fourteen men, a heavily veiled woman, and a lad, all 
clustering around a small heating stove. 

Among the manacled prisoners was one familiar 
face, that of Bill Brown, the laborer. Our party had 
entered the room by twos, the capitalists closely fol- 
lowed by Ring Bone and myself and the hardy specu- 
lator, stopping to ask a few questions on the outside, 
leisurely brought up the rear. 

Momentarily perplexed, we fixed our gaze upon 
the man of stratagem and many aliases, and he dropped 
his keen eyes, affecting dogged sullenness, a signal as 
we believed, for non-recognition. Unfortunately, the 
speculator had not witnessed this bv-play, and a look 
of indignation, dark and threatening, ran a mad race 
over his corrugated countenance on beholding Bill 
Brown hand-cuffed to a stalwart Hill Billy captive. A 
true friend, and a fearless foe, our companion was 
carried beyond his depth in the matter of forbearance, 

and unhesitatingly blurted out something like, “D d 

shame ; an infernal outrage ; by the eternal !” One of 
the guards placed a firm hand on Spec’s shoulder, and 
in a mild, but meaning tones, said : “Another break like 
that and you’ll go to Fort Smith, along with the ac- 
cused.” 

“Fort Smith be d d ! I’d go to h 1 for one 


266 


Meeting the Detective 

of ’em,” shouted the irate speculator, shaking his 
clenched fist under the officer’s nose. 

Heron Robert, as Bill Brown, scowled his disap- 
proval, and it must have dawned on the guard that 
our companion’s vehemence was because of his sym- 
pathy for the detective. At any rate, the faithful 
officer seized the speculator and pushed him bodily 
from the room, with a view, no doubt, of explaining 
the situation. All who were free to go and come 
rushed out of doors after the belligerents, only to find 
one of Uncle Sam’s revenue servants sprawled out 
on the railroad track with his Winchester rifle for a 
bed-fellow. The hot temper of our friend got the 
mastery of him, and with his strong right hand, he 
knocked the guard “into the middle of next week.” 

“I’d stand by that man Bill Brown, if he were ac- 
cused, or even guilty of murder, by an awful 

oath. “He’s my friend an’s a gentleman, every inch 

of him, and I’m his friend, a man, every d d inch of 

me,” exclaimed Spec, and the sympathizing Hill Billies 
applauded. 

Realizing that our companion had been laboring 
under false impressions, the U. S. marshals deigned 
not to notice his wild utterances. 

Within the time of disturbance, steam was raised, 
car wheels were moving on the side track, and the 
vanquished guard scrambled to a sitting position and 
inquired of those near him if “the train hit anybody 
else?” He was helped from the track, gradually ap- 
prehending the foregoing drama, and while his friends 

267 


Down in Arkansas 

whispered consolation into his ears, the ever-cool Bos- 
tonian explained matters to the speculator. 

Another feature of the night’s entertainment, not 
on the program, which, also, assumed a tragical aspect, 
was being arranged by a lot of disorderly Hill Billies, 
then loitering about with a dangerous brand of hell in 
their necks. The hour had come; their purpose to 
raise a riot and liberate the moonshiners was being un- 
folded by unexpected means. The ribald element threw 
off its disguise, seized upon the incident related above 
as a pretext, and called upon the speculator to lead. 
After a hurried, whispered conversation with the law- 
yer, the guards slowly backed into the freight room 
and barred the door. On came the grim, lawless 
crowd, with desperate purpose. The attorney mounted 
an empty coal-oil barrel, and by dint of his persuasive 
powers, quelled the riot, thus preventing a tragedy. 

In an earnest way, he explained that great dangers 
result from misconceptions ; that the officers misun- 
derstood his companion, who was a law-abiding man; 
the whole affair a grievous error, and that any further 
attempt to liberate the prisoners would be met with 
armed resistance, a result meaning sacrifice of life and 
the besmirching of the fair name of Arkansas. The 
speaker paused, and calmly observed the effect of his 
remarks, and then closed with the subjoined after- 
thought : “I call on all good men to stand by the law 
and the officers, a body of men, fearless and deter- 
mined, now in the honorable discharge of their duties. 
Although personal friends, and probably relatives of 


268 


Meeting the Detective 

some of you, the prisoners are charged with offenses 
against the revenue laws of our country, and must 
stand for trial. If innocent, they may return to their 
homes and friends ; if guilty, they should, and doubtless 
will, be compelled to pay the penalty, for the common 
good of society, as protected by law and order.” 

The large gathering of Hill Billies was swayed 
by his every gust of eloquence, and his clear, concise, 
and convincing arguments overpowered the turbulent, 
disorderly element, which quietly dispersed. 

A fool may incite violence ; a coward lead in wanton 
behavior, but only the brave and the able may thwart 
the designs of deliberate scoundrels by the magic of 
words, and then only when convincing truth is fear- 
lessly expressed. 


269 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


ON THE TRAIN 

With the Moonshiners 

Another train from the south, the local freight, due 
here at ten o’clock a. m., came rumbling up-grade, 
and stopped by the switch-light. A tall man, heavily 
loaded with bundles, climbed down from between lum- 
ber cars, and by irregular movements approached us. 
“A Weary Willie,” said Spec, the first time he had 
spoken since his bout with the revenue officer. 

“Wrong,” declared a companion. “Tramps rarely 
convey their wardrobes in this form.” 

“True, but sometimes they bear other people’s 
bundles,” another replied. 

“A ladrone or peddler,” suggested a third. 

When the big fellow came under the light, we rec- 
ognized our long-absent friend, that honorable oddity, 
Ring Bone Billkerson. In another instant he deposited 
his load at our feet, and looking up with a complacent 
smile, said: “Well, fellers, here’s yer sachels, I 
reckon.” 

The surprised Bostonian offered his hand to Ring 
27© 


On the Train 

Bone, and exclaimed : “Why, Ring, old boy, where 
did you get these?” 

“Whar did you leave ’em, podners?” 

“On the platform at Hog Eye, to be sure.” 

Ring Bone laughed, saying: “Well, if you’ll not 
give me er way, I’ll tell ye all er ’bout ’em. When ye 
tole me ’bout losin’ yer things, I sorter hated it, like, 
an’ I ast ther boss in thar (pointing to the telegraph 
office) how long ye’d be laid out here, an’ he said 
mor’n fo’ hours, an’ when ther trouble riz, an’ not 
wantin’ in it, not that I’m a coward, fellers, fur I 
hain’t, but one o’ them prisoners is kin to me, an’ I 
like youens, an’ warn’t goin’ to take no han’ in liberatin’ 
nohow, bein’ er laW-’bidin’ man. An’ so I jus’ saun- 
tered down to Hog Eye, whar ye left ther things, an’ 
when this mornin’ freight cum er long, I got on with 
yer packs, an’ thar they are.” 

“Ring Bone, you are a noble fellow; here, take 
this,” said our Boston friend, deeply moved by the Hill 
Billy’s story, and excessive kindness, presenting a five- 
dollar gold piece. 

“No, fellers,” Ring ejaculated, backing away. “I 
can’t ’spec’ pay fur doin’ er favor fur a frien’, when it’s 
my pleasure.” 

“Well, if you feel that way, Ring, I shall not insist ; 
however, I purpose getting even with you when we 
reach the city,” and the Bostonian then wrote in a 
memorandum : “One triangle complete, for one of the 
biggest-hearted men in Arkansas.” Call at this sta- 
tion day after to-morrow evening, Ring Bone, and 


271 




Down in Arkansas 

receive a package, care agent, from your grateful 
friends, the travelers.” 

“Now tell, Mr. Billkerson,” said the lawyer, “how 
you secured the luggage without an order?” 

“Order! I never thought o’ no order, ’til I got 
thar, podner, an’ nen hearin’ ther freight cumin’ up- 
grade like h 1 er heatin’ tanbark, I peered into ther 

office, an’ seed er feller settin’ thar like he’d been dead 
fur six weeks ; ’sleep, I reckon, so I jus grabbed up yer 
packs an’ when she slowed up, scrambled onto ther 
kivered cars. Ye know ther rest.” 

Five hours and twenty-eight minutes had elapsed 
since our train pulled onto “ther sidin’.” It was now 
12 :28 A. m. A “flyer” passed by from the north, and 
we knew the track had been cleared above. Our train 
was backed down to the station, and the conductor 
called : “All aboard.” Federal officers, prisoners, and 
quite a number of other passengers scrambled into the 
cars; those first named en route to Fort Smith, and 
the travelers bound for Kansas City. 

Ring Bone, faithful soul, came aboard, and right 
gladly did we share our luxurious compartment with 
him. 

“If I may be so inquisitive, where are you going, 
Ring Bone?” the lawyer asked. But the delighted 
Hill. Billy, then feasting his eyes on the rich uphol- 
stery, did not reply, and his wild-eyed bewilderment 
was greatly enjoyed by his charitable companions. 
Going down into his jeans, His Hillship brought forth 
a twist of tobacco, resembling a doughnut, and filling 


272 


On the Train 

his mouth with the weed, slowly remarked : “Fust time 
I ever rid on er — on er ” 

“Palace coach,” said the kindly Bostonian, by way 
of aiding the musician’s memory, or enlightening his 
primitive ignorance. 

“Well, podner, that’s whut they call hit, I reckon,” 
and he took a fresh chew of hillside navy, first placing 
in the cuspidore the old one, which, spread out, was as 
large as a dishrag. The conductor passed through 
our car, collecting fares and inventorying “annuals”; 
and on Ring Bone, in his wild, withered attire, cast 
glances of commiseration, then scowled dissatisfaction 
at the travelers, who interpreted the significant ex- 
pressions thus : “Ah, I’m on to your little game, my 
fine fellows ; you can’t rob that man on this train.” 

“Believes us bunco-steerers, and our friend the 
prospective victim ; ha-ha,” the Bostonian whispered. 

“If I thought so, I’d throw him overboard,” boasted 
Spec. 

“No, never kill. If you wish revenge, let your 
enemies live, and punish them by getting their money,” 
said the cynic. 

Ring Bone was greatly confused over the mass of 
details, and this sort of thing pleased the lawyer, who 
stretched his long legs under the seat, yawned, pulled 
his hat over his eyes, and chuckled merrily. 

“I war never on a pay train afore,” Ring Bone 
confessed, having just then returned from the forward 
car, where he had gone at the conductor’s bidding. 

“This is not a pay train, technically speaking,” 
someone explained, “but is called a passenger.” 

273 


Down in Arkansas 

“Well, I’m pleased powerful, men. It’s better’n 
ridin’ on er couplin’, lots, if er feller’s got dough, an’ 
ther good Lord knows I hain’t much,” said Ring, 
fumbling his silver. 

“Say, Ring, what did the conductor confide to you 
a little while ago, in the other car?” the curious spec- 
ulator asked. 

“Confide?” 

“Yes; what did he say?” 

“Well, he sorter thought as though youens war 
broncho-steers — sharpers, like, and ’lowed you’d skin 
er feller out’n his britches. Till I tole ’im er ’bout yer 
bein’ capilersts an’ spectelers, a wantin’ ter buy ther 
whole neck o’ woods down thar in Poke; an’ law- 
abidin’ fellers, not even armed, an’ ’nen he laffed an’ 
ast my pardon, like, an’ tole me to be keerful.” 

“Good,” cried the travelers, laughing so loudly as 
to attract exceptional attention. 

“Excellent advice, Ring Bone ; the conductor was 
right on general principles,” said the attorney, “though 
we are neither bunco-steerers nor swindlers of any sort. 
However, many men, every whit as respectably clad, 
and as genteel of appearance as ourselves, go abroad 
in the land with games and devices, deceptive schemes, 
and visionary projects, seeking whom they may ensnare 
and cheat ” 

“I’ve seed ’em, judge,” the deviser interposed, “fol- 
lowin’ tent shows an’ hangin’ round G. A. R. encamp- 
ments, an’ licked one uv em outin’ his boots fur robin’ 
er boy on er bone ring trick, an’ that’s how I got ther 
name o’ Ring Bone. My right name’s Bill, fellers.” 

274 


On the Train 

Everybody laughed, and then the lawyer resumed : 
“The good conductor meant well, and notwithstanding 
his reflection on our character, we appreciate his solici- 
tude for the company’s patrons. You should guard 
against the too familiar approach of strangers, remem- 
bering always that there are many ways of committing 
robbery, other than by force and with firearms ; where 
did you say you were going?” 

“Fote Smith, sah.” 

“So I believed,” said the conductor, stepping from 
cover and smiling his apology, and then placed a slip 
of cardboard, bearing hieroglyphics, alongside of the 
ostrich plume on Ring Bone’s hat. 

Unobserved by the latter, the generous Bostonian 
paid His Hillship’s fare to the “Fote,” and when the 
conductor was obliged to reveal the facts, Ring Bone’s 
large, honest eyes glistened with intrusive tears. 

“I lef ’ my woman (his wife) home this fall,” said 
he, “an’ went down the river a cotton pickin’, an’ 
bached, an’ thar’s one good thing ’bout bachin’, it 
makes death seem sorter welcome like, so I cum home 
an’ have ben makin’ an’ layin’ up a little fur bad 
weather an’ sickness an’ axidents, but when my friens 
got inter this scrape, I just cum erlong ter do what I 
can fur ’em, if it takes the las’ cent an’s free as water, 
an’ while I thank Mr. Bosting fur payin’ my pass, I 
don’t want somethin’ fur nothin’ whut other folks wurk 
fur, though I’m poorer’n Job’s glutton gobbler, but I’d 
feel better, fellers, out thar on er couplin’ ’nen I would 
er lettin’ ’im pay fur me. An’ I’m nothin’ ’longside 
of youens nohow.” 


275 


Down in Arkansas 

ings, seemingly plentiful as mile-posts. It must have 
been the railroad company’s practice, when construct- 

“Ah, but you are, Ring Bone,” exclaimed a chorus 
of voices, and with a feeling heart, the lawyer spoke 
thus : 

“There are men who ride to safe retreat, and then 
with a stroke of the bridle turn the faithful, jaded 
steed away to starve on the common, but you are not 
of this feather. Good clothes may be bought with 
money, wrongfully acquired, or on credit ; education 
is a result of opportunity, and irregular gentility may 
be assumed for evil purposes, but true manhood is 
born in us, and though clad in rags, manhood is man- 
hood still.” 

The engine whistled “down brakes”; the train 
slowed up and passed, cautiously, over a piece of new 
track, round a wrecked locomotive, the cause of our 
delay at the station. Looking out we saw a number 
of lanterns, and a gang of men clearing the roadbed of 
debris. 

“I wonder that capitalists do not, from the very 
beginning, have their roads built by receivers, since 
they are more thorough, economical, and honest than 
the average promoter. Such, of course, would pre- 
vent heedless waste of money, secure a good, safe 
track, and discourage wild-eyed schemers, who other- 
wise acquire reputations for sagacity which they can- 
not maintain,” and the lawyer’s chain of opinion 
snapped a link. 

On we sped, past little ochre-colored station-build- 


276 


On the Train 

ing the road, to give a “depot” in exchange for each 
individual right-of-way, the distance between having 
been regulated by the width of separate homesteads. 

We passed through a section some ten miles wide 
without a stop, although the station signal of the loco- 
motive was continuous and wearisome. Flag stations 
were so close together that strict observance of the 
rules utterly prohibited that usual delightful quietude 
intervening between stopping points. We were in- 
formed that, on entering the quarter, the engineers at- 
tach a weight to the slide valves, open the throttle and 
take a nap, while the firemen exercise their brawn by 
continuously jerking the bell-cord. 

During the confused concert of whistle and bell, 
the travelers went forward to the smoking-room and 
looked in upon the collective body of officers and 
moonshiners. Among the latter was one, other than 
Bill Brown and Ajax, who bore bodily marks which 
all readily recognized, however, his face was that of 
a stranger. He was an elderly man, about whom there 
was both an air of self-importance and grave discern- 
ment, and had a head as round as a rifle-ball ; a reced- 
ing, bearded chin, and small fierce eyes, which glared 
from beneath an irregular brow, set with coarse white 
bristles. 

“Well,” said the Bostonian, after some moments 
of deliberation ; “I cannot see how a man could think 
with both lobes of his brain through two such small 
holes as are occupied by that fellow’s eyes. I should 
suppose his ideas would become confused.” 


2 77 


Down in Arkansas 

“And yet, if I am not mistaken in the man, he can 
execute an idea in words about as clearly as anyone 
I have ever met,” was the lawyer’s significant reply. 

“I cannot understand,” said the first speaker, “how 
he has kept out of the penitentiary.” 

“By systematic suppression of fact and introduction 
of falsehood,” said the other. 

“Then you could prove anything by him?” 

“Surely. However, he would be a poor witness.” 

“In that, if he ” 

“Is honest,” the lawyer interposed, “why then we 
have caught nature in a lie.” 

The truth now dawned on Spec, and he exclaimed : 
“The old judge, by golly, and I’ll bet my wife’s income 
the flunkey chained to him is the blatant bailiff. Well, 
who’d a thunk it?” 

A quadrate expression of countenances evinced that 
all were of one mind, and then, for the first time, Ring 
Bone heard pronounced the oft-repeated, “Deuced 
strange” of the Bostonian, and “Devilish queer” of the 
lawyer. 

The discordant ringing and whistling ceased ; we 
had entered a locality less closely stationed, and the 
attorney began questioning. Ring Bone respecting the 
prisoners. 


278 


CHAPTER XXIX 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 

The High-Born Lady 

“Well, fellers, ther whole thing’s out, an’ I’d as 
well tell yer all erbout ’em,” said Ring Bone. “Nigh 
onto ther whole caboodle berlong to ther society, M. 
M. O. of U. S., number Thirteen Times Thirteen.” 

“Why, Ring,” exclaimed the lawyer, “that is a 
large number, one hundred and sixty-nine; you don’t 
mean there are so many organizations of the kind in 
this country?” 

“Can’t say ’bout that, judge; that’s their number, 
I reckon ; they’s some pumpkins on ’rithmetic down 
thar in that neck o’ woods.” 

“M. M. O. of U. S., eh, Ring Bone?” 

“Yes; stan’s for Moonshiners’ Mystic Order of the 
United States.” 

“Ah, I see ; why not Moonshiners’ Mystic Order of 
United Scoundrels?” 

Ring Bone looked grieved. “No, judge, I can’t 
exactly ergree with ye in that. Some uv ’em’s good 
fellers, hones’, an’ true as steel. That big one’s my 


279 


Down in Arkansas 

cousin, an’ er braver boy never went barefoot over 
ther Fousche La Fa.” 

“Beg pardon, Ring, old fellow ; I meant no offense. 
They are moonshiners, therefore criminals ; at least in. 
the eyes of the law.” 

“Ye’r right, judge, in sayin’ o’ that, but durn er 
law what robs er man uv his sacred rights.” 

“Well, well, my good friend, let us not discuss that 
particular feature. Who is the elderly man?” 

“Ye mean that pompous ole cuss; why, he’s ther 
leader, an’s smarter’n er fox, but’s an infernal old 
scoundrel jus’ ther same. An’ I heer he’s already 
offered ter turn ther State’s evidence agin ther boys, 
ther old dog. Why, he orter be kicked to death by 
er jackass, an’ I’m spilin’ fur er job o’ that kind my- 
se’f, an’ don’t yer furgit it, durn ’im.” 

“What is his name, and where does he live, Ring?’’ 

“He’s ole Squire Helsenback, an’ lives over on 
Cedar Creek, ’bove Buck Knob, an’ owns er big farm 
in Polk County, an’s rich.” 

“And the big fellow is your cousin, eh?” 

“Yes, a double cousin, I reckon; maw’s oldest sis- 
ter’s oldest son, an’ paw’s youngest brother’s oldest 
son, an’ er better boy ’an Ajax Billkerson never went 
fox huntin’ with houn’s. I allers tole ’im he would 
git inter trouble er playin’ spy for that ole hog, Hel- 
senback, an’ I wish he had went to ’ell an’ never cum 
back.” 

Candid and open as had been Ring Bone’s utter- 
ances, he never once mentioned the veiled woman, nor 


280 


The Parting of the Ways 

her youthful attendant. However the travelers recog- 
nized them on sight, though as yet they had no oppor- 
tunity of speaking to either. 

For once the lawyer had led in the speculator’s 
pastime, and having observed the latter’s impatience, 
now told him to take the witness. 

“I am curious to know,” said Spec, addressing 
Ring Bone, “if the young woman and laddie are con- 
cerned with moofishining ?” 

“Not er bit,” was the emphatic reply. “She’s er 
lady, an’s in love with one o’ them prisoners, Bill 
Brown by name, an’ like me, I reckon she and her 
bud’s er goin’ long ter see fair play/’ 

“What, Ring ? I am astonished !” the lawyer in- 
terposed. “Do you expect for the accused other than 
equitable consideration ?” 

“Ecable considerin’ ?” 

“Yes, full and fair dealing?” 

“Well, I didn’t ezzactly say that, judge, but I want 
’em treated like men, you know.” 

“And what do you propose doing, if otherwise ?” 

With a sinister grin : “Why, by ther eternal John 
jumpin’ geehosephat, I’d let my cousin outen ther ole 
jail quicker ’n er cat can swinge its mustache.” 

“That would be dangerous, Ring Bone, and be- 
sides, it would not be honorable,” said the attorney. 

“Well, as fur ther danger, I’ll take my chances, an’ 
its erbout as honorable as ther way lawyers get ’em 
outen such places, I reckon.” 

Spec laughed with ridiculous self-abandon, and 


281 


Down in Arkansas 


then, with far-reaching designs, asked many questions 
respecting Bill Brown, but gained no new facts. 

Wonderful as it must seem, Ring Bone, in common 
with all residents of the locality, except, of course, the 
German family, had not up to this time even a suspi- 
cion as to young Robert’s true identity, nor of the real 
purpose which kept him in the locality. 

There is an old belief that the devil himself burn- 
ing with inextinguishable violence, must be met with 
fire, if we would successfully oppose his Satanic rule 
and combat his pernicious policy. The undertaking 
of our hero, beset with entanglements and covert guile 
from the very first, required not only prophetic com- 
mon sense and unfaltering courage, but necessitated 
the employment of secret artifices, which under ordin- 
ary circumstances might well be condemned. Not 
until every other wile of the revenue officers had proved 
abortive, was stratagem pitted against stratagem, in- 
trigue against intrigue, and plot against plot. And 
thus, frustrated with their own forbidden methods, the 
Jacobins were finally led into captivity by an esteemed 
member of their own wicked organization. 

It has been shown that, under an assumed name 
and the guise of a day laborer, Heron Robert slowly 
succeeded in getting into the good graces of the lawless 
class, but as to his personal trials and sacrifices, and 
the hazardous obligations he must have taken to be- 
come a member of the moonshiners’ organization, 
probably little will ever be known. Suffice it to say, 
therefore, that, having been ably planned and cleverly 


282 


The Parting of the Ways 

executed, his task culminated in the most auspicious 
raid ever known to the revenue department. Let us 
hope the end justified the means. 

“In the light of modern intelligence and resultant 
invention,” said the lawyer, “crime of whatsoever kind 
cannot linger in hiding, nor evil-doers long escape 
retributive justice. It is, therefore, reasonable to 
conclude, that ere long rebellious moonshining, inim- 
icable to the great State’s best interests, will be de- 
stroyed, root and branch, leaving her thinly settled 
districts open to helpful immigration, and her people, 
for the most part, replete in all that is good, pure, and 
progressive, free from such tumultuous calumny ; and, 
I do hope that the barbarous and malignant makers 
and vendors of the vile stuff called “white mule,” 
“mountain dew,” and “moonshine whisky,” will crawl 
forth from the cave and the jungle, cut their hair, trim 
their whiskers, so that they may associate with the 
human family to the end that they may abandon their 
primordial mannerisms and be developed along human 
lines.” 

Again the engine shrieked a station signal; our 
train came to a standstill at the junction of another 
road, where was a small Indian town. 

“Orders to await Iron Mountain; twenty minutes 
late,” sighed the conductor. 

“It is an evil wind that blows nobody any good,” 
said the lawyer, rising. 

“Yes,” the Bostonian replied, “for we shall now 
see and bid our friends an affectionate adieu.” 


283 


Down in Arkansas 

We filed out to the platform on the way to the 
“smoker.” The moon shone brightly, and as we 
passed one of the chair cars, discovered within the 
High-Born Lady and her younger brother. The for- 
mer was visibly dejected, and our hearts rose to our 
throats. Approaching the window we greeted them, 
and she burst out sobbing. The lawyer set himself 
to soothe her, and begged her to be as reasonable as 
was her lover. 

“He is going away without one comforting word, 
without seeing me. Oh, cruel, cruel!” 

“Calm yourself, Miss Catherina,” said the lawyer, 
kindly, but firmly. 

“Oh, you will break my heart with your cold pru- 
dence. Oh, my poor Heron.” 

“She reminds me of a hen that hides to drop her 
eggs, and by cackling reveals her nest,” whispered the 
heartless speculator. 

Ignoring the ruthless sneer, the Bostonian said : “I 
will bring him to you, Miss Catherina,” and with ma- 
jestic courtesy, strode away. 

Soon we gathered in the vestibule of the Pullman, 
with Bill Brown as guest of honor. 

“What may we do for you, Mr. Brown ?” our legal 
friend inquired. 

“Oh, nothing, thank you. At Fort Smith, I shall 
readily give bond for my appearance,” said the pris- 
oner, smiling. 

“Why not turn State’s evidence?” Spec queried, 
with a Dockery wink. 


The Parting of the Wavs 

“Well, to be perfectly plain with you, us shiners 
have been anticipated; the old judge has already done 
that for us.” 

We thanked our young friends, and sadly bade 
them good-by, realizing that there were brighter days 
in store for them. Then left the apartment that they 
might have a few moments alone. Even the officer, 
detailed to guard the prisoner, followed us out, closing 
the door behind him. Ye that know nothing of love’s 
soothing power, come aside also. Needless to say, 
these were the happiest moments of our eventful 
journey. 

The Iron Mountain’s Number Nine came roaring 
up to the crossing ; the prisoners were hustled out and 
put aboard the train, standing at right angles, bound for 
Fort Smith. And the travelers departed for their re- 
spective homes, to meet at no distant day, waiving a 
friendly farewell to Ring Bone from the back plat- 
form, as we rattled noisily away from the station. 

Although some people insist that Arkansas is dull, 
this all happened in five days, and yet my story has 
scarcely reached a stage of semi-completion. 

Separations were coming thick and fast; soon the 
party would dissolve into nothingness, and yet, like 
the distributed letters of a written word, remaining 
elementary the same. 


THE END 


285 








































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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